


Self from Self

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Epic Bromance, F/M, Hurt Steve Rogers, Protective Thor, Romance, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team as Family, Thor Feels, Thor Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki returns to Midgard to exact his vengeance on Thor, and in the heat of battle Steve makes the ultimate sacrifice. Now Thor must save the life of his captain while struggling to balance what he is with what he knows he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger,_ and _The Avengers_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended. 
> 
> **RATING:** T (for language, violence)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** And so we begin the bromantic misadventures of Steve and Thor. As usual, no slash, lots of angst, and a lot of injuries to poor Steve. There is also a large amount of Thor/Jane and Steve/Peggy.
> 
> This story is definitely canon divergent from _Thor: The Dark World_ and _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. I'm using a mix of actual Norse mythology, Marvel's version of Norse mythology, and my own interpretations.
> 
> Enough of that. Enjoy!

_“Absence from those we love is self from self – a deadly banishment.”  
_ William Shakespeare, _“A Midsummer’s Night Dream”_

The punch caught Steve square in the jaw, and he was sent flying backward for what seemed like an eternity before colliding roughly and painfully with the floor.  He lay there, breathing heavily, dazed and blinking sweat and stars from his eyes and wondering what had just happened.  Then a blurry face appeared overhead.  A blurry bearded face that was framed by long blond hair and whose expression was tight with concern and apology.  “By Odin’s might, I thought you were ready.  I am sorry!”

A hand was offered to him, and Steve sagged into the mats for a moment before groaning and reaching up to grab it.  With little effort, Thor hauled him to his feet.  The world spun haphazardly as he crouched, bracing his hands on his knees and hunching over a bit.  Damn, the whole side of his face was throbbing.  He was stronger, stronger than any human, and fast.  But a punch to the face with all of Thor’s considerable might behind it had to power to knock even Captain America on his ass.

“S’alright,” he slurred around heavy breaths, patting Thor on the arm.  The demigod watched him, not at all convinced by his assertion.  Steve experimentally shifted his jaw back and forth and deemed that (although painful) the blow hadn’t done too much damage.  _At least not to anything other than my pride._   Thor’s blue eyes were mired in concern.  “Really, Thor.  I’m alright.”

“You do not seem it,” Thor rumbled, grabbing Steve on the shoulder compassionately as he analyzed the super soldier’s wincing face, as though staring long and hard enough could unveil some truth to him.  “You have been distracted all morning.”

Steve sighed as he gently but not unkindly dislodged Thor’s grip from his arm before stepping away.  He hadn’t been able to hide a single thing, though he sure as hell had been trying.  Thor was perceptive, far more so than most people gave him credit for.  It hadn’t taken long at all for Steve and Thor to become friends after the Avengers had first formed and stopped Thor’s maniacal brother, Loki, from destroying New York City.  They were far more alike than they were different.  They were both out of time and place, brought into a world that was confusing and mind-boggling and at times downright infuriating for its technology and fast-paced existence.  They often found themselves struggling together to grasp the simplest of concepts, things that came so easily to others that it was second-nature.  For them this world of cell phones and computers and social media and pop culture references that were so intricately and deeply layered into every day conversation was utterly and absolutely overwhelming.  It was all so foreign that they could only commiserate with each other.  When they chose to.  Neither of them was really given to complaining, but it was nice, at times, to have a kindred spirit battling the modern world and suffering with the same frustrations that Tony found so damn entertaining.

But their friendship went beyond their similar circumstances.  They were fundamentally alike in so many ways: fiercely loyal, strong beyond measure, simple and straight-forward in their thinking.  They were compassionate and truthful, and they both judged a man on his actions rather than his words.  And the ways they were different served to compliment rather than detract.  Thor was hot-headed and impulsive, while Steve was cool-tempered and careful.  Steve had a tendency to dwell, to get lost in his own mistakes, while Thor was rarely distracted by uncertainty and even less bothered by the past.  Thor was loud and outgoing, and Steve could be extremely quiet and private.  The other Avengers, with their dark pasts and demons, were difficult to read at times, but with Thor, Steve always knew what the other was thinking, how he was feeling, what was troubling him.  He liked that there were few complications, that Thor respected and trusted him enough to be candid.  And right then he felt something of a bastard for lying.

He just couldn’t bring himself to talk about it.  Not yet.  The folded papers in the back pocket of his sweat pants felt so heavy, a miserable weight dragging him down, but he wasn’t ready to deal with it.  He needed time.

“It’s nothing,” he assured his companion a bit more forcefully and curtly.  He was ashamed when he saw the glimmer of hurt that quickly flashed through Thor’s eyes.  It occurred to him then that he might feel better if he talked about it, but he quickly decided not to.  It was a visceral response, both to weakness and the hurt that inevitably come to the surface.  Thor was only trying to help, and he knew it.  He didn’t deserve a brusque dismissal.  “Don’t worry about me.  I’m just having an off day.”

Steve’s softer tone of voice eased Thor’s tight expression.  He patted the soldier on the shoulder before returning to his corner of the boxing ring.  “Then we shall not speak of it,” he decided.  He tapped his fists together.  “Do you wish to resume?”

“Sure,” Steve said.  He smiled and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.  “Let’s go.”  He slipped back into his fighting stance.  Thor wasted no time in coming at him, and they quickly continued sparring.  They had taken up these frequent matches in the last weeks, having both decided that fighting each other was significantly more challenging and rewarding than pummeling punching bags.  They were each other’s only safe opponent; Natasha was perhaps faster, Clint more accurate, Tony more protected.  Bruce’s raw power as the Hulk was unparalleled, but in terms of an equal match, there was none more suited than each other.  They were both resilient, too strong to safely practice on anyone else, and with too much expertise in combat to settle on anything less than a grueling workout.

Steve ducked to avoid a wide swipe of Thor’s fist, shifted quickly on light feet, and returned a blow of his own that Thor batted away.  They continued for a while, trading quick jabs and feints, side-stepping and blocking and dodging faster that most people could perceive, let alone manage.  “You have been practicing some restraint,” Thor ground out around a few heavy breaths, quite pleased.  Steve couldn’t help a little smile that curled his lips; Thor was something like an older brother, loud, a bit over-bearing, protective and instructive.  The others were immensely relieved that Thor had turned his attention to Steve, their appreciation silent but palpable.  Steve didn’t mind terribly much, even if Thor treated him like a young boy who _hadn’t_ undergone a dangerous, experimental procedure and fought in World War II and liberated concentration camps and faced the worst and most deranged the Nazis and HYDRA had to offer.  And _died_ , alone and trapped and frozen in the icy wreckage of the plane he’d sacrificed himself to stop.  He didn’t exactly need help or protection or guidance even, though Thor offered it without request and without any sense that maybe his advice wasn’t wanted.  Truth be told, Thor reminded him of Bucky.  Bucky had always treated him like a kid (even if he _had_ been a kid, and a sick and scrawny one at that, for most the years they’d been friends), like someone who needed a guardian, who needed a watchful eye.  Bucky had never been dissuaded by Captain America, had seen through the serum and the newfound strength and endurance and the symbolism – for God’s sake, the army had put him on such a pedestal towering over the whole world – and treated him the same way he’d always treated him: as little Steve Rogers who needed to be bailed out of every scrape and fight he bumbled his way into.

And Bucky was always _Bucky_ , entirely comfortable with who he had been.  He had walked with poise and swagger and confidence that Steve had always envied, like he trusted his own heart and to hell with what other people thought.  He’d been big and strong, a bruiser with a sharp wit and a good soul, who’d never been afraid to do the right thing even when it wasn’t easy or clean or popular.  Who’d taken a burden like poor, odd, ill Steve Rogers under his wing.  Who’d been a friend, a _brother_ , to someone who’d had _nothing_ and _no one_.  Thor reminded him a lot of Bucky.

Thinking of Bucky took his mind down familiar and unwanted roads.  It was almost instantaneous, the minute the comparison between Thor and his old, dead friend occurred to him, and suddenly everything he’d been trying so hard to keep hidden, to keep under control, surged to the surface.  He got distracted for a split second, but that was all it took.  Thor hit him with a hard kick that brought him down to his knees, and then next strike sent him sprawling.  Steve gasped and hit the mats roughly.  As he blinked the tears from his eyes, he felt a seemingly enormous weight press over his chest.  Thor smiled down on him, but the concern was as plain as day.  “Do you yield?” he asked, panting and sweating and grinning with pride at his triumph.

“I yield,” Steve gasped, and Thor climbed off of him.  The demigod reached down a hand to help him up again, and Steve groaned inwardly, this time too flustered and irritated with himself to accept the help.  He got himself to his feet with a grunt, wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“That’s not like you, Cap.”  Steve turned at the sound of Tony Stark’s voice and found the inventor standing in the door behind them, leaning on the frame.  He took a noisy bite of the sandwich he had and then sauntered inside, striding across the overly spacious room.  Like everything in Stark’s flagship tower, the gym and athletic training spaces were extravagant, armed with the best and most advanced equipment money could buy.  There were expensive machines, complete with computers that could chart biofeedback (whatever that was) in real time while bombarding one with any sort of entertainment that could be desired.  Steve preferred the old, familiar weight of boxing gloves and the smell of sweat and a punching bag or a jump rope or the ring.  Push-ups and sit-ups and simple exercises that _still_ felt new to him, even though he’d been Captain America for more than seventy years, because to him it was only yesterday that he _couldn’t_ do these simple things.  But exercise, like everything else in the twenty-first century, was unnecessarily complicated.  Tony seemed to thrive on complexity.

The billionaire swaggered closer until he reached a leather swivel chair stationed near the boxing ring (complete with a cup holder and some sort of built-in holographic interface that linked into the tower’s AI system).  He plopped down in it unceremoniously, pulling a beer from an internal compartment.  A leather chair with custom computers that dispensed alcohol.  Steve never imagined such a thing would be possible.  Thor was equally stupefied, if his expression was any indication.  Tony flicked the top off the bottle and around a mouthful of sandwich said, “What?  Just sayin’.”

“Perhaps if you spent more time and effort honing your own reflexes, you would have not found yourself in such peril during our last encounter with the doctor of Doom,” Thor admonished.  It was a fairly weak attempt to direct the conversation away from Steve, and while the soldier was appreciative of the effort, he knew it was only piquing Tony’s interest.  The billionaire was nothing if not perceptive, and Thor wasn’t exactly subtle.  At the moment, he didn’t think he could take it.  Everything he was trying to ignore was prodding and pushing and demanding its due.

Tony, thankfully, didn’t press.  “Hey!  It wasn’t my fault the asshat hacked JARVIS.  And I’ve been working on closing some security loopholes, you know.  Next time, no easy entrance, I promise you that.”  He took another noisy bite of his sandwich and then washed it down with quite a long swig of beer.  He tipped his bottle to the other two.  “You guys want one?  Or somethin’ to eat?  You guys work out too much.  Not like you need it or anything.  Come on and take a load off.”

Steve suddenly couldn’t stand to be still any longer.  He strolled over to the edge of the ring and slipped through the ropes before lithely hopping to the floor.  He grabbed a towel draped over another chair and wiped the sweat from his face.  “Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” he asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator on the side of the room.  He took a second and tossed it to Thor, who snatched it with one hand and downed it in what seemed like a single gulp.

Tony grunted and settled in his chair, polishing off his beer.  “It’s never too early, Gramps,” he responded matter-of-factly.  Steve rolled his eyes at that; it was only ten in the morning.  “You guys are killing my buzz.  Seriously.  Go for round two or something.  Thor, knock Steve on his ass a couple more times.  Entertain me.”

Thor’s face fractured in confusion at the colloquialisms and then in anger at the impudence.  Steve caught his friend’s gaze and gave a small shake of his head.  Stark was continually baiting _everyone_ , poking his annoying fingers under Natasha’s icy façade, into Clint’s cool exterior, into Bruce’s calm demeanor.  Thor was his favorite target to rile, because Thor, frankly, _riled_ so easily.  Tony was difficult to understand and tolerate to say the least, but underneath all his narcissism and wealth and extravagance and arrogance, he was a good person.  He had, after all, invited them all to stay in his tower after the Chitauri invasion in Manhattan months ago, footing the bill for all of their needs quietly and without anyone’s request.  He had nearly _died_ to save the world when he’d guided that nuclear missile into the open portal through which the Chitauri were pouring into New York City.  That sort of bravery couldn’t be faked and wasn’t transient.  Steve had known then that, even if Tony was the biggest loud-mouth and jackass this new world had to offer, he was truly a hero, and every bit his father’s son.

The soldier quickly changed the subject before Thor lost his temper.  Thor was agitated, and Steve knew it was because of him.  The Asgardian’s patience for Tony’s jabs was normally limited, and at the moment it seemed nearly nonexistent.  He didn’t think he could stand another shouting match between Thor and Tony.  “Weren’t you working with Bruce this morning, Stark?”

Tony fairly crudely stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed just enough to answer.  “Yeah, but a call came in from your fair lady,” he said.

Thor’s face fractured slightly in confusion and concern, the angry visage disappearing like it had never existed.  “Jane contacted him?” he asked.

Tony shrugged.  “And Selvig.”  He noisily chewed more and then swallowed.  “They were getting into some stuff about Einstein-Rosen bridges and wormholes and what have you.”  He wrinkled his nose and shook his head.  “And they looked like they were settling in for a long haul.  Doesn’t it just suck when someone butts in and steals your date?  I dunno how Banner attracts them, really.  I mean, compared to me, he’s nothing in the looks department.  And money?  Pfft, as if.  And you–” Tony raised his beer bottle to Thor.  “You’re a freaking god.  And a prince.  Chicks dig that sort of thing.  But somehow women and men alike are drawn to the mild-mannered beauty of his gray matter.  It’s maddening.  His sexiness truly transcends gender.”

“Stark,” Steve warned as Thor’s face grew taut once more.

Tony acted like he hadn’t heard his captain’s reprimand.  “And then the two of them had the gall to exclude me from their little discussion.  Rude.  And boring.”

“You think anything that doesn’t include you is rude and boring,” Steve said.

Tony cocked an eyebrow at that, but then shrugged in half-hearted agreement.  “True.  But astrophysics ain’t my cup of tea.  So I went to get a cup of tea.  Or a bottle of beer, as it were, and J was nice enough to inform me you two were down here kicking the crap out of each so I thought I’d come and watch the ass-whooping.”  He waved his dismissively hand at them.  “So less talk, more ass-whooping.  Thor, get Rogers in a backbreaker.  Or a tree of woe!  Jump off the ropes.  Do it WWE style.  Come on, it’ll be awesome.  I would so pay money to have you guys wear tights – well, you, Thor.  Spangles already dons the spandex on a regular basis.”

Stark was babbling again.  Steve had no idea what the WWE was, or what any of these maneuvers Stark was going on about were, and his head was starting to ache from Thor’s punch earlier.  The throbbing pain came on, chiseling away at his resolve, and the sound of Tony’s voice was just too damn _grating_.  “Shut up, Tony,” he snapped before he could think better of it.  “Please.  For the love of God, _stop talking_.”

The room was silent then as the billionaire abruptly ceased his prattling, and both he and Thor stared at Steve with unmitigated surprise in their gazes.  For his own part, Steve turned away and tried to ignore the press of their eyes to his back, but it was potent and palpable enough that it might as well have been a physical force pushing against him.  The weight of what he carried seemed unbearable then, the papers seemingly burning through his sweats to scorch his skin.  The surprise faded, but the awkward silence endured far longer, for a painful, uncomfortable eternity.

Stark finally broke the heavy quiet.  “Well, gee, that was uncalled for.  He seems pissy to me.  How about you, big guy?  Little pissy?  Really pissy.  Must be that time of the month.”

“Quiet,” Thor warned.  Then he hopped down from the ring and looked firmly at Steve.  “You are troubled.  Please, tell us.”  Steve turned to look upon his friend and saw only raw and anxious worry steeped in his eyes.  Steve knew Thor thought him selfless to a fault; sometimes, he thought the same.  “We will think no less of you.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Tony said, raising his hands.  “I make no guarantees.”  Thor’s icy glare silenced him, and Tony’s face fell.  For the first time, it was obvious he was also concerned.  It wasn’t like Steve to lose his cool, to take anything out on anyone else.  They all knew it, Steve most of all.  Shame and regret colored his cheeks red with embarrassment, and he looked away and damned this awful day.  This goddamn day that had started like any other, only JARVIS had informed him just as he’d been about to take a shower after his morning run that a courier had been waiting for him in the lobby.  And he’d gone down, received a thick, plain envelope with “Captain Steven G. Rogers” printed on the front of it, opened it curiously, and read the brief message.  And then read it again, because the first time the words hadn’t formed into meaningful sentences, and the sentences hadn’t coalesced into true understanding.  Eventually, as much as he hadn’t wanted it to, the truth had sunk in and left him reeling and lost.  There’d been another envelope inside, this one old and weathered with “Steve” written on its front in flowing penmanship.  He hadn’t had the courage to open that one, let alone read it, so he’d folded the papers, stuffed them into the pocket of his sweats, and fled.  He never made it to the shower, never made it back to his room, in fact.  His feet had moved him unwittingly back to the penthouses high in Stark Tower, and he’d nearly collided with Thor leaving the elevator.

Thor had known right away that something wasn’t right and had attempted to coax him into talking.  When that had failed, Thor had suggested they spar to alleviate their frustrations (although what Thor could be frustrated about, Steve didn’t know – he really should have asked, but he hadn’t been able to think, let alone manage concern).  Down they had descended to the gym located in the basement of the tower.  Thor was really exercising remarkable restraint and patience.  And Steve had been determined to keep it all inside where nobody could see how much it hurt, but the urge to _let it go_ was so strong that he wavered and his eyes filled with tears and the words prodded at his tightly sealed lips until he could hardly stand to hold them back.  He’d wanted to escape when he’d been down in the lobby.  Run to his room.  Hide.  Release his grief.  But there was no way to get away now.  No way to hide.

Maybe it was for the best.

As it turned out, though, Steve never had a chance to speak.

“Sir.”  JARVIS’ even tone cut through the heavy silence.  “I am sorry to interrupt, but I must inform you that there is a large build-up of energy forming directly above the tower.”

Tony’s expression loosened into one of concern and puzzlement.  “What kind of energy?” he asked.

“It registers all over the spectrum,” the AI responded.  Steve wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.  He shared a worried look with Thor, whose own quizzical expression was tinged with what could only be a mounting sense of ire.  “The signature’s intensity is exponentially rising.  It is concentrated approximately five hundred feet above the top of the Tower and descending rapidly.”

“Tony,” Steve said in warning.

“How rapidly?” Tony demanded of JARVIS.

The building suddenly vibrated, shuddering beneath their feet.  The shuddering grew from more than a tickle under their toes to a bigger quake, a rattle that shook the walls of the gym and the ceiling with a low rumble.  However, as abruptly as it began, it ended, leaving the three Avengers dumbstruck and unsure.  The lights flickered and then shut off completely, plunging the room into complete blackness.  Steve felt a twinge of panic as the sable pitch enveloped them; he couldn’t see a damn thing.  But the lights flashed back on.  “Earthquake, J?” Tony asked, but the tone in his voice suggested frustrated speciousness.

“Hardly, sir.  Intruder alert.”

And then they were running, bolting through the gym and to the elevators.  “JARVIS,” Tony shouted as they raced inside, “get the Mark VII ready.  Where the hell are they?”  Steve grabbed the handrail behind him as the lift shot upward at a speed that didn’t quite feel safe.

“On the roof at the moment,” JARVIS answered.  “Security cameras and scanners were disabled, likely by the EMP.  However, the door sensors are intact and have not registered forcible entry.”  That tempered their fear slightly.  What sort of intruder was stopped by a security door?  Nowadays, with the technology available to criminals, even the strictest, most powerful surveillance and security systems were capable of being breached.

“Inept, not necessarily not dangerous,” Tony remarked.  “JARVIS, initiate full lock-down.”

“Already done, sir,” JARVIS responded.  “The Mark VII is powered and ready.”

The gyms and fitness centers were located in the bowels of the tower, so it was nearly fifty floors to the top.  They didn’t go that far, though.  The lift halted smoothly at the fortieth floor, a significant portion of which Tony had transformed into a command center for the Avengers.  This area also housed Tony’s array of Iron Man suits and his private lab.  “Cap?” Tony said, deferring to Steve then as the doors swished open.

Steve darted a look to Thor and found his friend standing tall and firm at his side.  He gave a strong nod.  “Go,” Steve ordered.  “We’ll meet you on the roof.”

Tony returned a nod of his own and then was sprinting down the hall.  The doors to the elevator swished shut and then the lift continued its quick ascent.  “Something feels wrong,” Thor murmured beside him, his arms crossed over his chest.  His eyes were distant, his jaw set firmly, as he watched the digital display tick through the floors they flew past.  Steve didn’t answer, but he couldn’t agree more.  The lift zoomed upward a moment more and then stopped.

 “JARVIS?” Steve prompted as the doors opened and the two Avengers thundered down the spacious, elegantly decorated hallway.  Lights along the floor were flashing red in warning, both due to the security alert and to the disrupted computer systems in the tower.

“I believe they are still present on the roof, Captain Rogers,” the AI answered.  “The surveillance systems are rebooting momentarily.”  Steve didn’t know whether to be heartened or dismayed by that report.  Whatever had come, it obviously wasn’t in any rush to attack them.  “Mr. Stark is suiting up.”  A few quick turns led them from the more residential areas to the rear elevator.  There wasn’t time for the two of them to suit up, but they broke apart, heading to their rooms for their equipment.  Steve darted inside his penthouse and instinctively ran to where he kept his shield on one of the chairs in his bedroom.  The familiar sight of the star glinting in the morning sun brought him a second of relief, but he quickly brushed it aside as he slipped his forearm through the leather straps and raced back out of his room.

Thor was waiting.  The demigod said nothing, sharing with him another concerned look.  He clenched Mjölnir firmly in his right hand.  Steve followed Thor back to the elevator, where they rapidly ascended a few more levels, and then they burst through the doors of Tony’s top floor.  The huge windows had shattered, and outside there were four figures on the roof of Stark Tower with Iron Man floating menacingly before them.  Stark raised his hand, the repulsor in his glove lighting to a bright ball of blue, and the intruders raised weapons of their own.  “Drop your weapons!” Tony yelled.  “I don’t know who the hell you are, or how you got on my roof, but you better lower that axe of yours.  Larping is just way not cool, by the way.”  One of the men stepped closer, raising a vicious-looking axe.  The menacing visage of Iron Man was unwavering in the face of the threat.  “I mean it, Gimli.  _Drop it!_ ”

Thor was thundering outside before Tony had a chance to fire, bellowing, “ _Stop!_   Do not attack!”  Steve quickly followed, perplexed and feeling that dark sense of foreboding growing and growing in his heart.  Even Thor’s face breaking into a huge, relieved grin as they burst outside onto the roof didn’t allay his worries.  “My friends!” Thor cried, and suddenly the group of newcomers lowered their weapons, their hard faces loosening into relieved smiles, and surrounded the prince of Asgard.

Tony dropped to the top of the tower with a clank.  Steve came to stand beside him, watching in surprise as the four warriors (clearly of Asgard, if their armaments were any indication) embraced Thor and merrily greeted him.  Iron Man’s face plate flipped open, and Tony regarded the scene in confusion.  “Happy times?”

“Thor?” Steve asked.

The God of Thunder turned, smiling broadly with his blue eyes bright with merriment.  “Steven, Anthony, may I present Lady Sif and the Warriors Three.”  The woman, a tall brunette with long limbs and piercing eyes, nodded at them.  Her skin was very fair and she was beautiful, but the stern set of her jaw and the cold appraisal in her eyes suggested she was nothing to trifle with.  “Fandral,” Thor announced, gesturing to a man with neatly combed blond hair and equally neatly trimmed blond moustache.  He, too, watched the humans with wary eyes.  Thor continued, lifting his hand to the man in the middle of the group who wore his dark hair pulled back into a design that reminded Steve of a samurai (the regard for which he’d discovered had increased exponentially since the end of World War II).  “Hogun.  And lastly Volstagg.”  This barrel of a man Thor clapped affectionately on the shoulder.  He sported a massive bushy beard of red that seemed to meld with the thick mess of hair falling upon his broad shoulders.

Thor beamed proudly, obviously elated at their unexpected arrival.  “My comrades!  My heart alights in joy to see you!”

It didn’t escape Steve’s notice that Thor’s friends weren’t as thrilled with their impromptu reunion.  His suspicions that something serious was wrong were proved right away.  “Thor,” the woman, Sif, said in a low, hushed tone.  “You must come away with us.  Now.”

The flustered expression of confusion and dismay that passed over Thor’s face was downright uncharacteristic and obviously a sign that he knew no more about what was happening than Steve and Tony did.  Thor’s smile slid.  “What?” he said, looking among his friends.  “What has happened?”

“Your father sent us,” Fandral explained, taking a step closer to his prince, “to bring you back immediately.  You are in grave danger here.”

“Danger?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony said.  “He’s in danger?  Usually when something’s wrong on Asgard, things go to hell here.”

“This does not concern you, metal man,” Hogun declared sternly, flashing dark eyes in Tony’s direction.

Thor was quick to intervene and prevent a confrontation.  “Peace, Hogun.  These men are my companions.  May I present Anthony Stark, Man of Iron.”  Tony didn’t look pleased to make their acquaintances, and Steve prayed that tempers stayed cool.  Thor’s gaze turned to Steve.  “And Steven Rogers, our captain and leader of the Avengers.  They are among those that fought valiantly to repel the Chitauri invasion of this planet.” 

The group of Asgardians regarded Steve, so he squared his shoulders and tried not to be daunted.  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, “but I get the feeling Tony’s right.  What’s all this about?”

Sif decided to get to the heart of the matter.  “Loki escaped early this morning.”

The silence was deafening.  Steve fought the urge to slump in weariness.  The anger, dismay, and irritation that clenched his heart was difficult to control, especially when he considered the amount of damage done to the world the last time Loki had been free.  Thankfully, Tony never bothered with things like restraint.  “What the hell?  You have got to be shitting me.”  Nobody said anything to that.  If the warriors were at all ashamed of their failure in keeping Loki contained, it wasn’t obvious.  “God damn it.  Homicidal maniacs require more than house arrest, you know!  And I suppose he’s headed here again with some evil plan for world domination?”

“Not entirely,” Sif said.  Her blue eyes were guarded, but her concern was still obvious enough.  “Thor, please.  He is coming for you.”

Thor seemed surprised, though Steve honestly couldn’t imagine why.  Thor never spoke of Loki, burying whatever pain or anger he might have felt at his sibling’s betrayal deep under a dismissive exterior.  In fact, Thor, for all his love of grand tales of glorious battles and victories of ages past, rarely said a word about his family.  Steve knew he was the son of the most powerful of all Asgardians, Odin, and destined to inherit the throne.  And he knew Thor’s relationship with his brother was complicated and strained to say the least.  Loki believed that he’d been cheated out of the throne of Asgard.  It seemed much of his plot to steal the Tesseract and bring the Chitauri to earth had been driven by petty jealousy.

Thor’s face hardened then with the same realization Steve had reached, and in his eyes swirled a storm of emotions.  Hurt.  Rage.  Grief.  Steve had suspected this ever since New York, but now he was certain Thor still cared deeply for Loki, despite all the God of Mischief had done.  “If he comes to Midgard to destroy me, then I will go,” he said resolutely.  “I will not endanger Midgard and its people again.”

Sif seemed relieved by Thor’s decision, but Volstagg wasn’t satisfied.  “He does not come for only you,” he announced.  If the sharp looks of the others were any indication, the large man had just spoken out of turn.  That sinking feeling in the pit of Steve’s stomach grew heavier still, and he shared another concerned look with Tony.  “He comes for your woman.”

Thor’s reaction was immediate.  His face fractured in fear and rage.  “For Jane?”

“He escaped with the aid of the Jotuns.  A company of them.  They infiltrated the prisons and freed him.  We are not certain how, perhaps through some trick…  Many of our own are dead,” Fandral explained.  “During the skirmish, he swore his vengeance on you and all you love.  He swore the throne of Asgard would be his.”

“You are not safe here,” Sif continued.  Steve got the impression her feelings for Thor went well beyond the camaraderie shared by warriors and soldiers.  “We must return else–”

“No,” Thor said, adamantly shaking his head.

“Listen to reason,” pled Sif desperately.  “You must–”

“No!”  That silenced her, and she took a step back from Thor out of respect, bowing her head at his admonishment.  He was their prince, after all, so his word was law.  “I will not turn and retreat like a coward while this world suffers yet again for our problems.”  Thor practically spat the words he was so disgusted with the mere concept.  “And I will _not_ leave Jane to die.”  Then he turned to Steve and Tony.  “How quickly can we reach her?”

“Thor, these Midgardians cannot contend with Frost Giants,” Fandral said.

“Giants?” Tony repeated.

“And we would be outnumbered, particularly if Loki is with them.”

Thor pointedly ignored his friend’s counsel.  “Steven, how quickly?”

Suddenly everyone was watching him, waiting for him to render some sort of plan of action.  Steve’s mind raced through the scenario.  Bruce was already at Stark Tower, probably down in the science labs wondering what the hell was going on.  Hawkeye was aboard the SHIELD helicarrier after a deep undercover mission in the Middle East, and the helicarrier was out over the Atlantic as far as he knew.  And Black Widow had been gone for weeks on an assignment so classified that no details of where she was or what she was doing had been released.  Steve was not sure if she’d returned yet.  If these Frost Giants were so formidable that a group of undoubtedly accomplished and seasoned Asgardian warriors were reluctant to take them on, then they would need everything they had at their disposal to have a chance at victory.

But Thor was a member of the Avengers and they had to help him.  And they couldn’t let anyone die.

“Tony, have JARVIS put a call into SHIELD and alert them as to the situation.  Tell them to deploy reinforcements to New Mexico, and have them coordinate with local law enforcement to get people evacuated.  Have Hawkeye get a quinjet here pronto,” he ordered, “and call for the Avengers to assemble.”

Tony nodded, his face plate falling back into place.  “Already on it.”

Thor lifted Mjölnir.  “I will go on ahead,” he declared, swinging the hammer as he customarily did when he was about to fly.

“Wait,” Steve said with a shake of his head. 

“He is Odin’s son,” Hogun stated coldly.  “He abides by no one.”

Steve wasn’t daunted.  He didn’t know anything about how things were done on Asgard beyond what Thor had told him, but here soldiers followed orders.  And here, he was captain.  “It’s too dangerous for you to go alone, especially if Loki’s gunning for you.”

The others watched their prince, waiting for his response, gauging whether or not this mortal was to be taken seriously.  Steve feared for a moment that Thor, surrounded by his friends and subordinates, would ignore him for the sake of his own pride and his desperate need to save Jane.  But he didn’t.  Thor sagged, dropping his arm and saddling Steve with an aggravated look.  Inwardly Steve breathed a sigh of relief.  “Come on.  Let’s move,” he said. 

Thor grabbed Steve’s arm, and his eyes were tense with anxious misery.  “They will spare no one,” he whispered.  “And I will not let her suffer for me.”

Steve could appreciate how his friend felt.  But losing Thor was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.  “I know,” he said softly. “But it’s alright.  With the way Clint flies, we’ll be there in no time.”


	2. Chapter 2

The quinjet sped through the skies much faster than was legal, let alone safe.  Steve gritted his teeth and held tighter to the hand rails that ran the length of the jet along the ceiling as the aircraft hit another bout of wicked turbulence.  He glanced to the cockpit, watching as Clint capably pressed the throttle as high as it would go.  “Hang on back there,” he ordered through the communications link, and the jet shuddered again, rocking wildly for a moment as they streaked through the clouds.

Bruce Banner looked decidedly green (and not the rage-filled monster kind) from his seat along the fuselage.  He swallowed thickly, wincing as he glared at the cockpit.  It was easy to forget sometimes that, while the Hulk was nigh indestructible, Bruce was as human as anyone else.  “Try to avoid the bumps,” he pleaded as they hit the next wave of turbulence, closing his eyes against dizziness and leaning back in his seat.  His knuckles were white where they clenched his knees.  “ _Please_.”

“Going around takes time,” Barton responded tersely from the front.  Beside him in the co-pilot’s seat, Natasha turned and scanned the fuselage, taking stock of the Avengers and their guests.  Steve caught her blue eyes briefly, and she offered a small nod.  Those less well acquainted with the Black Widow might not have noticed, for her face was as calm and stoic and beautiful as ever, but Steve knew the woman behind the assassin well enough to see she was tired and worn from her latest mission.  He’d been greatly relieved to find her aboard the quinjet when Clint had landed it atop Stark Tower forty-five minutes ago.  She was a source of calm, a mediator that tolerated no nonsense, and he always appreciated her presence.

Thor’s passing form drew Steve’s attention as he pushed his way up and down the fuselage.   He’d been pacing (and Thor did _not_ pace) since they’d left New York, and given his large frame (and Steve’s equally large frame and Volstagg’s even larger frame), there wasn’t much room to spare as he walked back and forth.  He was practically grinding his heel into the deck plating of the jet and stomping so hard it rattled the plane nearly as much as the rough weather.  “There is no time,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowed and Mjölnir grasped so tightly in his fist that Steve wondered if there wouldn’t permanent dents in the handle when all of this was done.

Thor’s companions from Asgard looked about as piqued as he was, though for slightly different reasons.  They regarded the shuddering and twisting quinjet around them anxiously, trust in the Midgardians, let alone Midgardian technology, not so easily won.  Thor had considered following Tony and flying himself, but he had had the presence of mind to realize that he was the only bridge between his friends and the Avengers, and without him tempers might not stay in check. 

“Easy, big guy,” came Stark’s voice over the communications link.  Iron Man was cutting through the clouds beside them, matching their outrageous speed as they zoomed through the morning sky.  “ETA: five minutes.”

Thor wasn’t happy about that; it was taking every scrap of his patience for him to stay as still as he was and wait.  Steve clasped his shoulder and squeezed firmly, trying to be confident, but still that sense of unease plagued him.  He knew it well from back in the war.  Whenever a mission went south, his nerves always got to him before.  He’d just _known_ it in his bones that something was going to go very wrong, that their intel was bad, that the unpredictable would inexplicably occur and his men would die.  Intuition.

And it was fairly obvious that this was a trap.  And they were walking right into it.

But Thor appreciated the gesture, offering Steve a grateful glance.  “Hill said the reports out of New Mexico were quiet.  If something’s going to happen, it probably hasn’t happened yet,” Steve said.  Then he turned to the others.  “When we get on the ground, our priority is to get the people out of there.  After the civilians are clear, we form a perimeter around the town with whatever SHIELD has sent and wait.  You said they’d have to come over this Rainbow Bridge?”

“I said I know not how they will come,” Sif clarified crossly.  “Heimdall guards the Bifrost as a stalwart sentinel.  Loki and the Jotuns could not have defeated him.”

Steve didn’t know who this Heimdall was, but if the Asgardians thought he was imposing, he most certainly was.  “Then how–”

“There are other ways,” Thor answered grimly.  “Forbidden ways.”

“Interplanetary travel,” Bruce supplied, drawing Steve’s attention.  The jet dropped and Banner looked airsick, but he managed to keep it under control.  “Wormholes are only one theory.”

The quinjet lurched again, nearly spilling those standing to the floor.  Steve grabbed tighter to the rail and snatched Thor’s arm to keep him steady as the jet seemed to plummet.  “Hold on!” Clint cried over the intercom.  Steve gritted his teeth, closing his eyes against the vertigo and the memories unwittingly pressing against his subconscious of the last time he’d gone down in plane.  Thankfully, the descent ended quickly as the plane steadied itself.

Steve swallowed the pounding of his heart in his throat and gathered his bearings, looking around quickly.  “Everyone alright?”

Bruce looked trapped between wanting to puke and wanting to pulverize something.  “That was fun,” he groaned.

A quick appraisal of the group revealed no one was injured.  Volstagg looked particularly disgruntled.  “We need to get off this contraption,” he snarled.  There was a sizeable dent in the bulkhead behind him.  Sif scowled, rubbing her arm where she had also rammed it into the side of the jet.  If looks could kill, Steve was fairly sure he would be dead.

“Stark, you okay out there?” he called.

“Yeah,” came a slightly breathless response.  “But there’s something up ahead.  You better take a look.”

Steve ripped away and turned to face the cockpit.  One large step had him as close as he could be, staring outside the large windows.  “How in the hell…” he murmured.

Over the small town of Puente Antiguo there was a veritable blizzard.  The clouds that had been causing the rough flight coalesced ahead, hanging low to the ground in a malicious white and gray wall that seemed too thick and too powerful to be natural.  It was also well into spring, so a storm of this intensity was fairly impossible, yet for miles all around snow pummeled the earth at a pounding, merciless rate.  Wind crashed into the jet, knocking it about like its engines were nothing, and the occupants scrambled again to brace themselves.  The twisting vortex of blinding white was impenetrable.  The currents of air were shifting and spinning so violently that it almost looked like a huge tornado, and lightning raked from cloud to cloud, purple and vicious.  It was outrageous, unbelievable, that the worst winter storm Steve had ever seen had focused its icy fury on this little place in the middle of the desert.  Steve had witnessed and been part of some pretty incredible things during his life, and this…  This was up there.

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Clint murmured, sharing a brief look with Natasha.

Thor pushed his way closer, standing close beside Steve, and the soldier looked to his friend for some sort of explanation.  But Thor was more afraid than Steve had ever seen him before, his eyes wide in worry, his bearded face pale and his frame taut with none of its usual confidence.  “Barton, can you set us down near Jane’s lab?”

Clint didn’t look sure.  He grabbed the quivering flight stick harder, his quick eyes scanning the wailing alarms and flashing red lights all over his flight displays.  “I’ll try.  Stark, you with me?”

“Always, feathers,” Tony said, and Steve noticed the faint glow of Iron Man’s propulsion system above them.  “So much for the reports being quiet.  I suggest you mere mortals bundle up.  My sensors say it’s -30 degrees Celsius out there and dropping.”

The quinjet dropped out from under them again and then snapped abruptly to the right.  Steve nearly fell on Bruce as he pushed his way to the rear of the jet, fighting to keep his balance and his wits, looking for the survival gear he knew was stowed back there.  He tried to ignore that niggling voice of doubt and dismay that was growing louder and louder.  The plane felt like it was shaking apart around him, and the blinding white was filling his vision, and he was falling and crashing and _freezing_ …  _Damn it,_ he thought, yanking down the emergency supplies in search of jackets.  He’d been told he had a helluva case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder by the SHIELD psychiatrists, and this was all too eerily familiar to the _last_ things he remembered before going down in Schmidt’s plane.  _Please, not now._   That sheet of ice growing larger and larger.  _Please, don’t do this._ His stomach lurched into his throat as the plane tumbled from the sky.  Peggy’s voice.  _“Please, don’t do this.”_   Her beautiful face in his compass, trembling atop the console.  The only picture of her he had ever had.  _“Please, don’t do this.  Steve!”_

The jet fell and felt like it was spinning and Steve closed his eyes and fought to not be sick.  A large hand was upon his shoulder, bracing him as everything came to a sudden and short stop.  It took his beleaguered mind a second to realize that they had landed, and it was Thor who had grabbed and steadied him.

“This is as close as I can get us!” Clint yelled.  “I’m opening the rear!”

“You okay?” Bruce asked, grabbing Steve’s attention.  He’d unstrapped and was kneeling beside his captain, regarding him with those worried brown eyes of his.  “You look like you spaced out there.”

It was hard to hide anything from Bruce, but fortunately he didn’t have to try.  The rear of the quinjet opened with a hydraulic hiss, and Steve winced as a wave of icy air blasted them.  The wind was fierce, driving snow into his eyes, and he raised his arm to protect his face.  “I am going to find Jane,” Thor declared, and the determination in his voice suggested he wouldn’t tolerate an argument.  Steve wasn’t about to disagree at any rate, nodding and still reeling from the flashback.  “And I will stop Loki.  Captain Rogers is in command.  Follow his orders as though they were my own.”

If the Asgardians were unhappy with that, their stern faces didn’t show it.  At least they were soldiers enough to do what they were told no matter how they felt about it personally.  Steve at long last found the survival gear and wasted no time pulling out the heavy, protective jackets.  “Here, doc,” Steve said, handing a jacket, hat, and gloves to Bruce.  The other man didn’t seem at all convinced at Steve’s brave face, but he wisely said nothing more about it.  He handed the other jackets and outerwear to the two assassins as they walked from the cockpit.  Then he secured his own jacket, put on his cowl, and grabbed his shield, noting with satisfaction that Barton and Romanoff had donned their coats as well and readied their gear.  Clint’s quiver was fully stocked, and Natasha was briefly checking her multitude of guns.  Then the Avengers and the Asgardians charged out into the blizzard, the frigid air slicing into skin and yanking the breath from their straining, aching lungs.

Iron Man was there waiting for them.  “You weren’t kidding about giants,” he said in a mixture of dread and amazement.

Towering a good four or five feet above the tallest of them, the Frost Giants were laying waste to Puente Antiguo.  They were hulking monsters of slate and ice and red, evil eyes.  They smashed buildings, raining razor sharp shards of ice and brick everywhere.  There were screams in the air, and Steve could smell smoke on the wind.  Everything these giants touched froze instantaneously.  Half the buildings lay in ruin, and the snow was coming down so fast that the rubble was already coated in white.

As Steve and his team stood and beheld the wanton destruction, he knew immediately that they were in trouble.

And then there was Loki.  It had been months since Thor had taken his brother bound and gagged back to Asgard as his prisoner, and obviously losing the war he’d created had done nothing to dampen his ego.  He stood atop what used to be town hall, sporting his customary gold and green get-up, smugly watching their arrival.  His smooth face was twisted in half an amused grin, his black hair raked by the breeze.  He was slender, tall, and pale, a seeming weakling compared to Thor’s raw strength, size, and bravado.  But Steve knew from their last encounter that Loki was beyond dangerous.  It would be foolhardy to underestimate him.

“My brother,” he called from his perch, smiling that sly smile he’d so often donned during their last encounter.  “You are nothing if not predictable.  Surely even you realized this was a trap.”

“Nice to see you, too.  Not exactly a warm reception,” Tony called as he set down beside Steve.  Barton was stiff and unyielding, his eyes unreadable, but Steve could only imagine what he was feeling confronting Loki again after everything the fallen Asgardian had done to him.  Natasha pressed close beside him, her hood drawn tightly around her face as she squinted through the snow. 

Bruce was wary, his fists clenched at his sides.  “Tony…” he warned quietly.

But Tony never abandoned a chance to give someone a hard time.  “I’d say absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he called up to Loki, “but in your case it would be a bunch of crap.”

“Loki!” bellowed Thor, lifting Mjölnir and pointing it at his brother.  “You will cease this now!”

But Loki didn’t stop. He didn’t even pay Thor’s words any heed.  “And you have brought your friends with you.  As you can see, so have I.  My friends.  My _family_.”  He smiled a toothy smile that might have been charming were it not for the malice in his eyes.  He opened his arms to the Frost Giants who’d paused in their pulverizing of the town to turn to their guests.  Steve gritted his teeth and held his shield tighter to his chest, quickly taking stock of the situation.  There were more than a dozen of them that he could see.

They were in _serious_ trouble.

“Oh, shit,” Tony murmured from Steve’s left.  To his right, Clint nocked his bow and took aim, eyeing the wall of giants stomping through the snow closer and closer to them.

“You will surrender, Loki,” Sif calmly demanded, her glimmering sword drawn.  “Your life may be spared if you come with us without a fight.”

“You are hardly in a position to demand anything of me,” Loki responded coolly.

“Where is Jane?” Thor shouted.  He didn’t seem intimidated by the show of power, even if these monsters approaching them were downright terrifying.  He was frightened, but not over what they faced.  Not over the danger looming before them.  He was afraid for the innocent people trapped yet again in his battle with his brother.  For the woman he loved.  Loki said nothing, but the smile slowly slid from his face.  Thor’s temper snapped.  _“Where is she?”_

“Frozen,” snarled the God of Mischief.  Rage flashed in green eyes.  More than rage, Steve realized then.  Jealousy.  Pain.  Somehow that made this all seem sadder and more senseless.  Pitiable, were it not for the destruction.  “Buried in the snow.  There is a cost to loving something so frail.”

 _“Loki!”_ roared Thor.

And then the Frost Giants were upon them.

The Avengers scattered.  Steve ducked to avoid the swipe of a huge fist.  He felt more than saw Bruce transform behind him, and then the Hulk’s earth-shattering roar vibrated the street.  A blur of green muscles thundered past him and collided with one of the giants, and the two monstrous forms went down in spray of snow.  “Protect Thor!” Steve commanded as the majority of the giants raced toward the God of Thunder.  There was a chorus of battle cries, and the Warriors Three and Sif charged into the fray, weapons raised and all too eager to follow that order at least.  Steve could see them for just a second before the giant that had rushed him was attacking again.  Another punch descended rapidly, and he crouched just in time to catch the monstrous blow on his shield.  The impact jarred his bones, nearly crushing him into the ground.

He grunted, shoving the giant away.  The monster seemed surprised at his power, narrowing dark eyes before coming at him again.  Two arrows fired in rapid succession sunk into the giant’s back and then exploded.  It gave an inhuman howl, twisting around to look behind it.  A barrage of bullets followed, peppering uselessly against thick, gray skin.  The giant sneered and raced toward Hawkeye and Black Widow, and the two of them scrambled to avoid the attack.  A huge fist slammed into the ground, and rocky snow and ice exploded toward the two Avengers in a crushing wave.  The two barely escaped in time.

The blizzard raged.  Another building to their left was reduced to a pile of snowy rubble.  “Stark!” Steve yelled, staring up into the swirling gray clouds and shifting curtains of white above.  He tried desperately to see Tony, but through the storm it was impossible.  “Stark, I need a read on where the civilians are!”  He couldn’t see a damn thing, and they needed to help these people.  He saw a bolt of lightning arc downward from above, and then Thor let loose an angered howl and swung at the giant in front of him.  Mjölnir struck it in the chin, and the creature was flung back into what looked like a storefront.  Brick and glass and wood came down in a crushing explosion.  Steve gritted his teeth and side-stepped another attack.  There wasn’t going to be much of a town left in a few minutes.  They had to rescue the survivors! “Tony!”

“Working on it, Cap,” Tony answered.  Steve swung his shield in a wide arc, releasing it at just the right second to slam into the neck of a giant trying to pummel Natasha.  She agilely leapt out of its wide range as the giant reeled backward, collapsing into the ground hard enough to shake it beneath their feet.  His shield flew back to him, and he snatched it in the air before rolling out of the way of a stomping foot.  He slipped between the legs of the creature, moving too fast for the giant to grab him.  He jumped and drove his fist hard into the giant’s back.  Pain rushed up his arm when his knuckles hit what felt to be a wall of unbreakable ice.  But the giant was flung to the ground, and it shouted in frustration, twisting and reaching for him.

But Steve was sprinting deeper into the destroyed town, grabbing Romanoff’s arm and pulling her through the snow with him.  “Barton, with me!”

Clint shot another arrow, one that was blown off course by the howling wind.  He swore and retreated in frustration.  “I’m freaking useless in this!” he cried.

Across the street, Steve pressed himself along the corner of a building.  One of the giants growled in anger, battling with Volstagg.  It swiped its arm, and shards of razor sharp ice sprayed from its grotesque hand.  The ice spiraled towards them, as long and deadly as knives.  Steve instinctively raised his shield, Clint and Natasha huddled behind him.  His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as he struggled to stand firm while the icicles slammed into his shield.  When he looked again into the blizzard, he saw Volstagg drive his axe into the giant’s midsection.  Sif was there, as well, and her sword stabbed into the giant’s chest as it fell.  _One down._

_Too many to go._

“Where’s Thor?” Natasha cried.

Steve scanned the scene as quickly as he could.  With the snow this heavy and the wind this strong, it was impossible to see more than a dozen feet in any direction.  “It’s a damn white-out!” Barton shouted disdainfully.

A wink of red and a flash of lightning caught Steve’s gaze, and he looked to his left.  Thor was surrounded by five or six – no, _eight_ – giants, each intently trying to destroy him.  He whirled and danced, swinging Mjölnir as though it was an extension of himself, and lightning crackled wildly around him in his desperation.  The other Asgardians were trying to get to him, their weapons flashing as they fought, and the Hulk sent one of the giants flying across the road into another building with a mighty roar.  Steve couldn’t see Loki, but he imagined the god still sitting atop his perch, arrogantly enjoying the horrific show he’d made for himself.

They couldn’t do much in this fight.   Natasha didn’t have the physical strength to do damage, and Clint couldn’t shoot in this horrendous weather, even if his arrows could pierce the giants’ tough skin enough to actually be effective which Steve sincerely doubted.  “We gotta get the people out.  Tony, talk to me.”

“I’ve got an infrared lock on anybody left alive,” Stark responded.  “Few dozen, including some hot spots in Foster’s lab.”

Steve’s heart sped in relief.  “Then let’s move.  Stark, coordinate and give us cover.  Keep those things occupied.”

“Got it.  SHIELD’s inbound from the south, so take them out that way.”

Steve looked to Natasha and Clint.  He could feel them both shivering beside him.  The snow was coming faster and faster, and it felt colder by the second.  “Split up,” he ordered.  “Save as many as you can.”

Natasha nodded, frost coating her eyelashes and her face red.  Then she turned and ran north, pushing against the driving winds until she reached the first house.  She kicked open the door with a muffled cry and slipped inside.

Clint pressed his back to Steve’s as another barrage of deadly ice descended upon them.  One of the giants had noticed their momentary escape and was thundering toward them, but Fandral intercepted, his sword singing as it cleaved one of the humongous arms clear away.  It was a damn good thing Thor’s friends had arrived when they had; sadly, Steve realized the Avengers were no match for these monsters.  And the damn cold was brutal…

“You okay with this?” Barton shouted over the din.

Steve knew _exactly_ what Clint was asking about and made a pointed decision to not acknowledge it.  “Fine,” he answered in as level a voice as he could manage.  “You?”

Loki was out there, and they both knew it.  “Dandy.”

“Go!”

Clint was up and running a breath later, crossing the street to the shadowy, snow-covered buildings on the opposite side.  Steve turned, using his shield to block the waves of snow and ice launched at them from one of the giants.  There were the familiar sounds of repulsors being fired, and blue light shot through the white tempest to cut into the frost giant trying to follow them.  Seeing Iron Man drop to the ground some distance away to provide a distraction, Steve turned and sprinted as fast as he could to the edge of the fray.  “Fandral!  Volstagg!”  The two closest Asgardians turned at his call.  “We’re bringing the civilians out and down this road, south and out of the town!  Keep the way clear!  Provide cover!”

Volstagg shoved a giant back and then grimaced as though withdrawing from the battle was physically uncomfortable.  Fandral shared a hard glance with his compatriot, and a long moment passed where Steve wondered if they really would submit to his leadership.  But Fandral gave a curt nod, and Volstagg sagged a little before disengaging.  Relieved, Steve hurried back toward the buildings.  He barely ducked in time as a blur of red and gold streaked over his head.  Glass exploded to his right as Tony was thrown into a window.  “Stark!” Steve cried.  A giant stomped closer.  Steve let loose a cry of effort as he ran full tilt into the giant’s midriff, slamming the edge of his shield down into the being’s hip.  It staggered back, yelping in pain. 

Steve balled his hand into a fist and threw all his weight into an uppercut, catching the still reeling brute by surprise.  “Tony, are you alright?” he asked hoarsely, chancing a look over his shoulder.  He felt a wave of bitter cold rush over his body, and then the frost giant screamed down at him.  Raising his shield in front of his exposed skin was all he could do to protect himself, and even then the blast of frigid breath was excruciating.  “ _Tony!_ ”

A pair of bright blue beams shot out of the damaged storefront behind him, driving into the giant’s chest and propelling it away from Steve.  A breath later Iron Man landed beside the soldier, his armor dented in places but apparently no worse for the wear.  “Go!” Tony said, his palm repulsors still raised and trained upon the giant’s prone form.  “I got this icy bastard.  JARVIS, tell them where the survivors are.”

“At once, sir.  Captain Rogers, head two hundred meters down the street.  At the T-junction, turn left.”

Steve watched Tony blast the giant once more before turning and running.  He moved as fast as he could.  There was no other choice.  Worry and fear pounded in Steve’s heart as he sprinted, but this was all he could do.  All he needed to do to help Thor.  He passed Romanoff and Barton as they began directing people outside of the frozen buildings, helping them as they struggled through the rapidly accumulating snow banks.  Frantic faces, wide with fear and pale with the cold, glanced wildly around in horrified disbelief.  The two SHIELD agents calmly directed the small groups of survivors with carefully controlled urgency in their tones, their eyes shifting between their wards and the swirling storm and the violent battle spreading from the town’s center.  The giants immediately noticed the people exiting onto the streets and came at them like predators seeking an easy kill, but Fandral and Volstagg were there to stop them, and Iron Man battered them from the sky.

“Keep moving!” Steve ordered, shouting above the roar of the wind and the battle.  People were screaming and crying, terrified and shivering as they stumbled through the snow.  He strapped his shield to his back and scooped up a little girl who was probably wearing everything warm she owned.  Resting her against his hip, he grabbed the mother by the arm and half carried her as they ran through the snow.  Ahead was the T-junction.  Steve handed the girl to Clint.  “I’m going after Foster!”

“Be careful, Cap!” Clint shouted, grabbing the child and leading the group of survivors south.  The entire top of a building beside them exploded.  In one swift motion Steve pulled his shield from behind him and guarded the group from the falling debris.  The roar of the Hulk shook the ground.

Natasha raced by.  “This is not good.  JARVIS, where else?” she demanded, running back toward the town.

“The building to your left, Agent Romanoff.  There is a family of four huddled in the basement.”

Steve didn’t waste another second, turning left and thundering down the street.  The town was not that big, only these few streets lined with small shops and homes and other municipal buildings.  It couldn’t be that hard to find the lab, even in these horrendous conditions.  “Talk to me, JARVIS!”

“Turn right at the next corner, Captain Rogers.  One hundred meters dead ahead.”  Steve skidded in the snow as he made the turn, and then he sprinted down the road.  Finally, through the curtains of shifting white, he saw a circular building with tall windows along its front and two smaller structures connected at the sides.  The windows were miraculously still intact, thought the wind was pounding them mercilessly and the snow drift was climbing higher and higher.  Relief pounded through him as he ran toward the doors.

“How’s it going?” he questioned through the communications link.  He grabbed the door handles and pulled, but they were locked tight.  He pounded.  “Doctor Foster!  Open the door!”

“We’re making the last sweep now!” came Barton’s winded response.  “You got Foster?”

“Almost,” Steve answered.  “Doctor Foster, can you hear me?  It’s Steve Rogers!”  There was no answer.  He normally didn’t condone breaking the law, but this time he’d make an exception.  With one mighty kick, he forced open the doors.  Snow burst inside, enshrouding him as he stepped through, and the change in air pressure shattered the windows with a bang.  He looked around frantically as the storm rushed inside.  “Doctor Foster!  Jane!”

There was the thudding of boots, and from the back rooms away from the windows two figures wrapped in coats and blankets emerged.  Steve had met Jane Foster a few times in the past and found her to be beautiful, sweet, and kind, if not a tad scattered-brained.  Her pretty face cracked into a huge, relieved smile at seeing him.  “Steve!  Thank God…”  She ran toward him, grabbing his arms.  With her was her assistant, Darcy Lewis, who talked too much and made about as much sense as Tony did.  “What’s happening?  I was on the phone with Erik and Bruce and–”

“Are you hurt?” Steve interrupted.  Jane shook her head, afraid but calm.  “Good.  We need to get you out of here.”

“Wait.  If you’re here, is Thor–”

“No time to explain,” Steve breathlessly returned.  He had no idea how the battle was going, but he didn’t want to worry her, and he certainly didn’t want to frighten her with the fact that a deranged god was here to use her against the man she loved.  “Come on!”

He grabbed her arm and Darcy’s elbow.  “Ow!  Hey!” the girl irately snapped, but Steve ignored her, directing the two women from the remains of the lab and out into the snowy hell. 

The snow was nearly up to their knees now, and Jane and Darcy were struggling to walk, anchoring themselves onto Steve’s tall and sturdy frame as they fought through the blizzard.  “Are we clear?” Steve shouted into the communications link, squinting in the pelting snow.  His hands and feet were numb, and everything was starting to feel sluggish and heavy.  The cruel chill was invading every part of him now, his jacket and uniform saturated in it.  “Barton!”

“We’re clear!” came a strained response.  “Hurry, Cap!”

Steve tried to do just that, but his companions were fighting for every step.  He grabbed Jane’s slight form.  “Get your arms around my neck!” he ordered, and she did.  “Hang on to me!”  Darcy swung her legs around his other side, and he slid his arm around her.  And then he prayed that Thor never learned that he’d carried his lady love around like this.

A few moments later brought him back to the T-junction in the town.  He set Jane and Darcy to their feet, pulling his shield from his back anew, afraid of what he’d find.  Most of the area had been destroyed, the buildings half-collapsed into the street and buried under snow.  A few hulking corpses lay in the road.  Steve’s heart leapt to his throat momentarily at finding them, but he realized they were slain giants and not any of his teammates.

“And so she is flushed out!”

Loki landed on the street behind him, and Steve whirled, pulling Jane and Darcy along with him.  “It’s over, Loki,” he warned, putting himself protectively between the god and his quarry.

“On the contrary, Captain, it’s just beginning.”  Loki smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  Steve saw a flash of pain on the god’s face before he was forced to duck and bring his shield up to block Loki’s strike.  Darcy shrieked.  Steve took a step back, pushing his boots into the slick surface to gain some traction as Loki punched at him again.  Even though Loki wasn’t nearly as strong as Thor, he was still a formidable opponent.  Steve shoved the god back, delivering a sweeping kick that Loki nimbly dodged.  “Such a perfect soldier.  Are you willing to lay down your life?” Loki demanded.  His expression was tense with rage as he rammed Steve into the house behind them.  The women scrambled out from behind him as Loki bore down on him.  “Are you willing to die for her?  For Thor?”

Steve gritted his teeth and shoved the other back.  “You better believe it.”  He spun, landing an impressive kick into Loki’s midriff, sending the god flying back down the road through the blankets of snow.  Steve took a moment to catch his breath, and then he grabbed Jane and Darcy again and continued down the road away from danger.  “Stark, Barton, what’s the story?” he shouted through the communications link.

“Hold on!” Tony responded.  His voice was pinched and exasperated.  A breath later Iron Man was flung straight through a building from the adjacent street.  Stark exploded through the rear wall with a blast of brick, mortar, and ice before colliding with the unforgiving ground and sliding through the snow.  “Ouch.”  He staggered to his feet.

There was the sound of gunfire and the muffled bang of an explosion.  Clint and Natasha rounded the corner of the street, running at full tilt with two giants following them.  Natasha angled about as she ran, unloading her gun at their attackers, but the bullets hardly slowed them.  Clint had a boy in his arms.  They weren’t going to make it.

A clap of thunder and a burst of lightning heralded Thor’s arrival, and the ground shook as he landed in between the Avengers and their pursuers.  With a mighty yell, he threw his hammer at the two Frost Giants.  Mjölnir collided with one in the chest, effectively dropping the brute, before sailing back to Thor’s outstretched hand.  The other giant was met with Thor’s powerful swing, and it went down, flailing limply like a rag doll.

Thor turned, and his haggard face broke in relief when he saw Jane beside Steve.  She crossed the street, uncaring about the heavy drifts of snow and the debris, and when they reached each other he swept her in his arms and kissed her desperately.  “Are you well?” he asked breathlessly.  “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said.  “No, I’m okay!  I’m alright!”

“You must go with the others,” Thor said, taking Jane by her arm.  The ground began to shake.  Down the road Steve could see the hints of a furious melee through the snow.  Flashes of steel and gray skin and green.  “It is not safe for you here.  Go!”

Jane shook her head.  “I’m not going to leave you–”

“Clint, I want you and Natasha to get Miss Foster and Miss Lewis clear. Is there anyone else?” Steve said.

Clint handed the boy to Black Widow.   “That’s it,” he declared.

Steve couldn’t help but be relieved.  “Then fall back and coordinate with SHIELD.  Have them create a perimeter around the town while we finish off these bastards.”  If he was unhappy with being dismissed from the fight, Clint didn’t show it.  Unfortunately, with the sheer size and strength of their opponents and this vicious blizzard, he and Natasha were more liabilities than anything else, and Clint was smart enough to know that.

“Come on!” he yelled toward the women, drawing his bow and heading down the street.  But before Jane or Darcy even moved to follow, there was a sinister voice behind them.

“I did not give you permission to leave, Agent Barton.”  Loki appeared through the wall of white, flanked by a group of Frost Giants, and when the largest of those raised its hand, the snow at the other end of the street behind Clint abruptly rose up in huge wave that towered over them all.  With a massive rumble it raced toward him like an avalanche cascading down a mountain side.  He had no time to react as he was struck.  He was immediately overrun and disappeared in the snow.

“Clint!”  Natasha cried.  She set the hysterically sobbing boy to the ground.  Darcy grabbed the kid and held him tightly to her, watching with wide and terrified eyes as Romanoff ran toward the wall of snow and ice where Clint had been standing.  _“Clint!”_

Steve’s blood ran cold and he made to help her, but a giant slammed down upon the street in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks.  And another landed beside them.  And another.  He pressed close to Tony and Thor, raising his shield.  Thor pushed Jane in between them so that she was protected on all sides by the Avengers.  He heard Natasha calling Clint’s name, heard her fighting through the snow and digging, and every bit of Steve’s body itched in agonized worry to help.  But they were surrounded.

Loki smiled, but it was without joy.  “And now it comes to it,” he said, approaching the trapped Avengers.

Thor veritably growled.  “Loki, you do not have to do this,” he said, struggling to keep his emotions in check.  “If you wish to fight me, then fight me.  Stop involving innocents in our feud.  Please, see reason!”

“Reason?” Loki said incredulously.  “What reason could I possibly have to do anything you ask of me?  Nay, dear brother, I have failed in the past to claim what is rightfully mine because my goals were too lofty.  I should have focused on more simplistic aims, namely destroying you and all you hold dear.  Having my vengeance and crippling Asgard’s future.”

“You are a fool if you think Father will ever favor you now, now after you betrayed Asgard, after you endangered Midgard!” Thor retorted.  “Fight me and let us end this.”

“This is something you and your father have never understood.”  Loki smiled smugly.  “A king does not fight his own battles.  That is why he has soldiers.”  And he elegantly raised his hand and gestured for the giants to attack.

And they did attack.  Their target, however, was something of a surprise.  The enraged giant beside Loki, the largest of their company, flexed its icy claw and then grabbed the God of Mischief about his throat.  Loki choked, his eyes bulging as his hands flailed at the iron grasp around his neck.  The giant lifted him weightlessly.  “Release me,” he gasped desperately.  “I am to be your king!”

“Whoa,” Tony whispered.

The creature grinned humorlessly as though amused.  “You are no king, nor will you ever be,” it hissed.  It threw Loki toward Thor, and he crashed into the snowy ground, rolling roughly before coming to a pained stop.  The other giants stalked closer, bearing down on their small group.

Loki shook his head in frustrated helplessness, his eyes glowing in pain and betrayal and absolute rage.  “We had an accord!”  The giants ignored him.  _“Traitors!”_

“Now the sons of Odin will fall to us,” the giant declared coldly, “and Asgard will know the icy might of _our_ vengeance.”

The giants attacked.  Jane screamed and Steve held his shield in front of him to protect them both from the spray of deadly ice.  Tony wasn’t so lucky, and the frozen spray caught his left leg, momentarily fusing Iron Man’s boot to the ground as thick ice crawled up his ankle to his knee.  The mechanical whine of his leg struggling to bend at the joint was loud and desperate, and he frantically trained his repulsors at his foot to try and blast himself free.  Steve drove his shield into the ice at Tony’s shin, and it shattered.  Then he turned, fighting to see Clint and Natasha over his shoulder as the battle raged around him.  He spotted Natasha’s red hair whipping in the wind, but Clint was nowhere to be seen.  _Buried._

He had to get to him!

There was a roar and then a blur of green and brown.  The Hulk thundered down the street, a giant grasped in his meaty paw which he unceremoniously threw into the ground before stomping on it a few times.  _Thank God._ “Hulk!” Steve screamed, stepping on nimble feet to avoid a blow from one of the giants surrounding them.  “Hulk!  Help Natasha find Clint!  Go!  _Hurry!_ ”

The Hulk heard his orders over the cacophony of battle and roaring winds, abandoning his pummeling of the beaten giant and catapulting over fallen buildings to reach the huge pile of snow behind them.  Then he frantically began pawing through it.  Sif and the Warriors Three had followed the Hulk down the street and charged into the fray, worn but alive and still eager to fight.  They moved as a well-oiled machine.  Fandral drove his sword into the back of one of the giants as Volstagg slashed at its leg.  Hogun landed a perfect strike against its chest, pushing it back into Sif.  The lady warrior spun her sword in a gleaming arc before taking off the giant’s head.  And they hardly wasted a breath before moving to the next foe.

Steve twisted about, driving his fist into the abdomen of a giant and then sweeping out one of its muscular legs, glancing over his shoulder to the rest of his team.  There was a triumphant roar, and Steve nearly collapsed in relief when he saw the Hulk pull Clint’s body from the mountain of snow and ice.  Natasha was there to grab him.  Steve couldn’t see if he was alright, if he was even breathing, before he was forced to reengage his assailant.  Tony gave a cry and stumbled beside him.  He was not faring well; he’d taken quite a beating, if the dents in his armor were any indication, and he was obviously getting tired.  Steve tried to get closer to Iron Man to provide some support.  The giants that remained were hounding Thor as he struggled to protect Jane, his arm across her small body as he deflected their blows.  He was losing ground.  And Loki was being positively throttled.

He didn’t know how much more they could take.

Steve blocked another round of ice, crouching to guard Tony as the inventor struggled to get to his feet.  “Stark, fall back.  Protect the others,” he ordered.  For once, Tony didn’t argue, firing off a couple more shots at the giants still accosting them.  The last of his missiles exploded against one, leaving it a smoldering mess in the snow, before he ignited the thrusters in his boots and flew away.  Quickly Steve counted.  Six giants left.  They just needed to survive long enough for the Asgardians to destroy them.

A huge fist slammed down onto him.  He hastily brought his shield up, but he was getting weary and he was so damn cold that the block was just a tad sluggish.  The force of the collision sent pain spiraling down his arms, and his numb fingers loosened just enough that his shield flew from his grasp and skittered down into the snow.  Defenseless, the next blow he caught his own hands.  He fought for purchase in the ice, baring his teeth in a desperate snarl, pushing back with all of his strength.  He barely managed to repel the giant, scrambling to the side to avoid the next punch.

The giant gathered snow and ice from the very air, it seemed, and suddenly he wielded a wicked looking spear.  It was thick and long, glistening as it slashed at him.  Steve dodged wearily, diving into the snow to avoid the strike before rolling to his feet.  His shield…  _Where the hell is it?_

He heard Thor cry out in pain.  “Thor!” he yelled, watching in horror as the god was knocked to knees.  Mjölnir was flung from his hand, the mighty hammer bouncing heavily through the snow and ice before settling a few feet from Steve.  Four giants surrounded Thor, and the large one drove the god down into the snow with a massive foot.  Jane screamed as another of the giants made for her only to have his reaching hand smashed by Hogun’s mace.  Volstagg was there to whisk her away while the other warriors contended with the enemy.  The Hulk tried to get to Thor, but he was knocked aside like he weighed nothing. 

The giant pinning Thor to the ground smiled in sadistic glee.  It reached down and wrapped its hand in Thor’s blond hair, pulling his head up.  “Shall I show these mortals how a god dies, Odinson?”

Steve’s heart stopped in his chest, but then the impressive giant looked to the side.  Thor’s wide eyes darted to the right, and Steve followed his gaze.  It was Loki who they were watching, Loki who lay bruised and bleeding in the snow.  Loki who was about to be destroyed by one of the giants.  Loki who was about to be killed.  He was dazed and pinned.  The frost giant looming over his gasping form summoned a great sword of ice and snow in his hands, preparing to sever the other’s head and deliver this killing blow.  “No!” Thor bellowed, desperately struggling to break free.  “Loki!  _No!_ ”

Steve did the only thing he could.  He ducked beneath a slash of his attacker and devoured the distance to Thor’s fallen hammer in one massive stride.  He skidded to a crouch and wrapped his hand around its pommel.  Mjölnir felt hot and powerful in his hand.  He expected it to be heavy, unwieldy, but it wasn’t.  Not in the least.  Power like nothing he’d known ever before arced up his fingers and arm, rushing over him like tingling lightning, thundering in his heart and spreading wonderful warmth all over him.  He lifted the hammer, and with a mighty cry, hurled it at the giant.

Mjölnir raced forth.  It struck the monster standing over Loki with a heavy thud, knocking him forward with a spray of snow and ice, and he fell into the street, dead.

Everything was still.  Steve had but a moment to realize what he’d done.

_“No!”_

He supposed he should have been surprised when he felt the giant move behind him, when he felt the great wave of cold upon his skin, when the ice pierced his chest.  He supposed he should have been shocked at the bloody tip protruding from him near his heart, by the puddle of crimson covering the pristine snow at his feet.  But he wasn’t.  He stared at the ice numbly, watching as his life spilled out of his body.  There wasn’t pain, really.  But there was cold.  Frigid, miserable cold spreading from his heart, chilling his blood as it rushed around and out of his body, drawing the heat from his muscles and tendons and skin and bones.  The world was a spinning vortex of white and gray and red.  He thought he heard screaming and crying.  He thought he heard Peggy.

_“Steve, don’t do this…  Please!”_

_“Steve!”_

And then he was falling, falling again into the snow and ice. 

Falling and freezing and dying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** A slight warning on this chapter for disturbing imagery. Read at your own discretion :-).

They burst through the doors of the abandoned diner.  Inside it was bitter cold, without power or light, but the building was at least intact enough to provide shelter.  “Put some tables together!” Bruce ordered, shoving vacant chairs and other debris out of the way as he hastily cleared as path.  He snatched a discarded coat from one of the chairs and stuffed his arms through it clumsily; the clothes he’d found in the remains of one of the demolished homes was not protection enough against the chill.  “Come on!  Get him inside!”

Thor gritted his teeth, his hands anchored firmly under Steve’s arms, watching anxiously as Fandral and Sif broke away and each grasped one of the shiny metal tables and hauled them closer.  Tony struggled to maintain his hold on Steve’s feet, buckling with the weight and his own injuries.  Behind, Natasha quickly helped Clint limp through the open doors, his arm draped over her shoulder as he shivered violently.  When he stumbled and fell to his knees and waved her away, she left him and rushed to help the others.

“No, Nat!” Bruce called, looking over his shoulder.  “Stay with Clint.  Keep him warm.  Chest first, then arms and legs.”  Black Widow nodded and went back to her partner, slamming the doors shut to prevent additional cold, snowy air from infiltrating this poor excuse for a safe haven.  Clint was quaking uncontrollably, pale and covered in snow, his lips tinged purple and his eyes glazed and listless.  Natasha pulled him up from the floor with Jane’s help and wrapped her arms around his frigid body.

“Bruce!” Tony cried.  Iron Man’s face plate was retracted, revealing Tony’s bruised and horrified face.  Thor tightened his grip as the body jerked in his arms.  Blood splattered from Steve’s mouth as he gave a hacking cough.  “Aw, hell…”

“Get him down!  Easy, now.  Easy!” Bruce breathlessly said as Tony, Thor, and Volstagg set Steve’s body to the tables.  “We’re going to need blankets, sheets, coats – anything to get him warm!  And somebody see if there’s a first aid kit here!”

“Let one of us fly him out of here,” Tony suggested, sharing a quick look with Thor.  “If we can’t get him to the jet–”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.  He’ll bleed out before you can get him help,” Bruce quickly decided.  “We need to stabilize this first.”  Another deep cough fled Steve’s lips, and the soldier flailed, semi-conscious and struggling as blood filled his mouth.  “Get him up, Thor!  He’s choking!”

Thor grimaced at the look of agony clenching Steve’s face as he propped his friend’s torso up, tipping him to the side so that the blood welling in his throat dribbled out of his mouth.  He felt himself shaking as he pulled the cowl from Steve’s face, trembling with rage and grief and pain that he could barely restrain.  The horrific scene replayed itself relentlessly in his mind.  Steve grabbing Mjölnir from the snow.  Steve lifting it, wielding it, throwing it at the giant about to murder Loki.  Steve’s eyes lost in confusion as that horrific spear of ice had been driven through his chest.  Steve falling to the ground.

Steve, who’d sacrificed himself for Loki.

The giant who had stabbed him had sneered at Thor in smug satisfaction, and Thor had lost control.  He had let loose a howl of absolute rage, flinging the frost giant who had pinned him off his prone body.  Mjölnir had careened toward his hand with only a thought, and he had lost himself to his rage, whirling and raising his hammer and letting the foul creatures who had done so much damage to his friends feel the very depths of his wrath.  He had held back nothing, swinging Mjölnir as though it was an extension of himself, and lightning had raked the clouds overhead.  Together the Asgardians had slain the rest of their foes, leaving them dead in the snowy hell they had wrought.  Without the dark magic of the Jotuns, the raging blizzard had faded.  The aftermath would have seemed idyllic with the tiny flakes drifting slowly and gently to the white ground.  It would have been beautiful had it not been for the blood staining the snow.

Thor gritted his teeth and looked back over his shoulder at Loki.  Fury boiled in his blood; he could hardly stand its ferocious intensity as he watched Hogun push his fallen brother inside the darkened building.  Loki’s face was bruised and bloody and scraped, and his hands were bound tightly behind his back.  Hogun made their captive kneel, his countenance stern and his eyes sharp.  Thor stared at his defeated form for what felt to be a long while, feeling such a storm of conflicting, heated emotions, hating Loki and himself and everything that had torn their brotherhood asunder.  How had it come to this?

_By my honor, you will pay for this._

“Fandral!  Sif!  Keep your weapons on the prisoner!”  His two comrades looked at him and then glanced at each before drawing their weapons and joining Hogun by Loki.  Loki himself said and did nothing, staring blankly at the floor, pale and detached.  At that moment, Thor cursed him and the day his father had rescued him from the ruin of Jotunheim.  There was nothing left of the brother he’d once loved.  Nothing.

Steve moaned and slapped a blood-covered hand to Thor’s forearm.  Thor was unsure of how aware his friend was, though he was certainly in a great deal of pain, if the lines furrowed into his brow and his labored, halting breaths were any indication.  He had seen enough serious wounds in his long life to know a mortal injury.  And he had encountered many such injuries inflicted by Jotun weapons.  They often were deadly to an Asgardian, and Steve was human.   _No!  Do not think it!_   “Banner, we must remove the ice quickly,” he declared in as level a voice as he could muster, tearing his anxious eyes from Steve’s anguished face to Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes shot down to the sizeable rod of jagged ice yet impaling Steve through the breast.  Part of it had broken off at his back when he’d fallen off the Jotun’s weapon, leaving a five inch blade embedded near his heart.  “He needs surgery,” he declared.  “I can’t do that here.  We should get the bleeding under control and make him as comfortable as we can while we wait for the med-evac.”

“Yeah, a hospital sounds like a fantastic idea,” Darcy softly said from the diner’s bar a few feet away.  She still held the little boy, who she had wrapped in a table cloth Jane had found.

“He will not survive long enough!” Thor returned more harshly than he intended.  “The ice is poisoning him.”  As if to confirm his statement, Steve suddenly arched his back.  His grip on Thor’s arm turned downright crushing as he writhed.  His mouth opened in a soundless scream, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath hardly coming.  And what did come was merely a weak gasp.  His hands reached toward the ice embedded in his chest, and Tony barely caught them in time.

“Oh my god,” he said, looking down at the wound.  Where the injury had once been letting blood loose in the torrent, there wasn’t much at all, and what was on the table and floor beneath them was frosty and crystalized.  Steve wasn’t bleeding.  “Thor’s right.”

Bruce looked horrified.  “Get the coat off!” he cried.  They worked fast, Thor grabbing Steve’s shoulders and pushing him as firmly as he dared to the tables while Bruce and Tony unzipped Steve’s combat jacket.  The heavy winter gear was stuck to his chest near the wound.  Steve managed to get enough air into his lungs to howl as they tried to peel the fabric away.  Volstagg was nearly kicked in the face as he tried to keep Steve’s legs still while the captain senselessly struggled.  “Cut this, Tony,” Banner softly said, turning his worried brown eyes to his friend.  “Carefully.”

“Don’t need to tell me,” Stark muttered, and Iron Man’s face plate closed over him again.  The blue eyes glowed as he raised his hand, shooting a very confined beam of light from his palm.  Thor watched, fighting to keep himself and Steve as motionless as possible as Stark sliced through the remains of the coat and Captain America’s light Kevlar uniform beneath it.  Tony moved with the conscientious precision of a man who was used to working under extreme pressure.  Once he was done, he and Bruce were quick to move the remains of Steve’s clothes out of the way.

“What the hell is this?” Bruce murmured, his eyes wide and alarmed.

“Jesus,” Tony whispered.

Lines of blue spread from the gaping hole in his chest, running beneath the skin like spidery veins.  There was truly no blood now, at least not the massive amount of it that one would expect from so serious a wound to so vital an area, and what there was more ice than liquid.  The skin around the injury was blue and purple and gray.  Steve convulsed again, his body violently fighting against the foreign object inside it, his chest heaving.  It was horrifying, and this was not the first time Thor had seen such a thing.  The Jotuns were known for their cruelty.

“He’s freezing from the inside,” Tony declared.  He shared a look with the Avengers.  They all had read Steve’s personnel file.  They all knew his story.  They all understood the very depths of the torture being laid upon him.  Stark settled Thor with the unwavering glare of Iron Man’s glowing eyes.  “His core body temperature is 32.4 degrees and falling.  Falling fast.  Shit.”

“How long, Thor?” Banner asked, grabbing for the table cloths Jane had brought.  Thor watched as the doctor bunched up the thin material and stuffed it around Steve’s violently shivering body.  This place had no heat, no power, and no supplies.  This was the best they could do?  “We need heat in here!  A fire!  Something!  Thor, how long?”

He wanted to lie, to deny the truth, but he couldn’t.  Not for all the angry wishes pounding in his heart that this _not be true_.  “A few minutes.”  He looked sharply at Bruce.

The prognosis rendered the chaotic scene all but still and silent for an interminable moment.  The Avengers stood, lost and reeling, faced with the very real possibility – no, the near _certainty_ – that their captain was going to die.  That today, which had begun as simple, peaceful, and mundane as any other day, was going to end with them losing their leader.  Their friend.

 _My brother._   Thor could hardly breathe for the pain in his chest.  The pulse of his straining heart against his sternum beat him from his crushed malaise.  Banner spoke before he could.  “We need to get it out of him!  _Now!_ ”

There was a flurry of activity.  Jane stood beside Thor, her small frame shivering and her face pale as she handed him a few coats that she had found.  One was her own, and he wanted to refuse it, but the look of determination in her beautiful brown eyes stilled his tongue.  He took the jackets and wrapped them as well as he could around Steve’s torso, trying to keep the meager heat the soldier’s body was producing trapped near his skin.  “Where the hell is the med-evac?” Tony demanded.  Darcy and Natasha had collected large pots from the diner’s kitchens and loaded them with things, paper and food and cloth, _anything_ they could find that would burn, and Iron Man quickly shot each with a narrowly confined repulsor beam to set them ablaze.  The heat was paltry, but it was safely contained at least, and it was all they had. 

Thor spared a glance behind him to find Barton wrapped in table cloths and coats as Romanoff sat him as close as possible to one of the pots.  The master assassin wrapped herself around Clint and pulled Darcy down on the archer’s other side, the sobbing child trapped in their small group as well.  “Inbound, five minutes,” she declared.  Her eyes betrayed her fear as she desperately rubbed warmth into Clint’s flanks, the semi-conscious man resting against her.  “There’s too much snow and debris for the chopper to set down here.”

“He’s not going to make it five minutes!” Tony snapped.  “His core temp is down another two degrees.  His vitals are all over the place!”  Thor did not need Tony’s magic computer man to see that; Steve was growing paler and more agitated by the moment.  His heart was racing, and he was breathing in rapid, strangled gasps.  His eyes snapped open, filled with agony and fear.  His lips shifted around a gasped word that had no voice behind it.

“Peace, my friend,” Thor said softly, fighting to keep his voice as calm and comforting as possible.  Steve could not afford to waste energy and strength now.  His hand clenched around Thor’s forearm again, painfully so.  He would gladly bear any pain to lessen Steve’s.  “Peace!”

“Get it out of me,” Steve bit out.  He threw his head back and arched and screamed.  “Get it out of me!  _Get it out!_ ”

Thor looked sharply at Bruce and Tony.  None of them had ever heard Steve cry out like that, raw and desperate and terrified.  He glanced at the hideous spike of ice lodged in Steve’s chest, at the poison spreading up and down and filling his body.  And then he moved, stepping around the table and shouting, “No, do not touch it!”  Bruce stopped with his fingers nearly brushing the ice, staring at Thor with dismayed, confused eyes.  “You will not be able to withstand the pain.  I will be the one.”

A man more beholden to his pride like Stark or even Thor himself would have argued, would have proclaimed his superior strength and mettle and denied that he was incapable.  Thankfully, Bruce was made of wiser stuff, as he only nodded and stepped aside.  He quickly traded places with Thor, grasping Steve’s shoulders and propping him slightly against his own chest.  Tony was there as well, taking Steve’s shaking hands and keeping them away from the ice.  “Easy, Cap.  We got this.  Just take it easy.”

“Volstagg!”  Thor commanded, looking over his shoulder.  The warrior needed no more instruction, laying his significant size over Steve’s mindlessly kicking legs.  “Somebody get him something to bite onto!”

Steve struggled, pulling away from Tony’s restraining arms.  He didn’t seem entirely aware, but he was aware enough to be in a tremendous amount of pain, and Thor nearly wished he would sink back into the miserable haze of unconsciousness in which he’d been trapped before.  “Thor,” he gasped.  “Tony.  Thor, help me…  Get it out…  _Please!_ ”

Somebody came with a wooden spoon likely procured from the diner’s kitchen, which Bruce instructed Steve to bite on as he slid it between the soldier’s teeth.  Steve’s eyes were clenched shut and he breathed quickly and harshly through his nose.  His face was flushed and bathed in sweat.  “Just breathe, my friend,” Thor commanded as calmly as he could.  “Stay strong.  It will be over soon, I swear to you.”

Steve groaned, his entire body trembling violently.  He tried to nod, tried to find some semblance of fortitude and bravery in the face of what he knew to be coming.  Thor closed his eyes, struggling to do the same, struggling not to hate himself for what he had allowed to happen and what he knew he would now cause.  Then he glanced among Tony, Bruce, and Steve, feeling uncertainty clench his heart.  “Do it,” Tony said.

Thor took a deep breath and grabbed the ice.

The moment his fingers wrapped around it, deep and unyielding cold shot through his skin and muscles and bones, arcing up his arm in a vicious bolt that stabbed into his chest.  His heart ached in a dull, muted spasm, and suddenly his lungs felt chilled and heavy and sluggish.  Thor grimaced against the agony assailing his hand, but he forced himself to hold tight, to not appease the demand racing from nerve to nerve in his body that he let the horrible thing go.  He held tighter, planting his other hand against Steve’s icy chest, and pulled as hard as he could.

It didn’t come free.

He yanked again, trying to ignore Steve’s scream and the way his body bent underneath his hands and the halting pace of his heart beneath his fingers.  He put all his considerable strength into it, all concerns about doing this gingerly dashed by the simple fact that the ice _wouldn’t come out._   And Steve was suffering, dying.  He needed to end this!  His hand throbbed as he tried to reaffirm his grip, as he tried to twist the ice, but the hateful thing held steadfast.

The awful torment continued for another minute, Steve bucking and squirming against the restraining holds as Thor tried to remove the ice from his chest.  His fingers left dents in Iron Man’s vambraces and the shaft of the spoon in his mouth would likely snap if he ground his teeth down any harder.  Volstagg grunted behind Thor, fighting to keep Steve’s lower body immobile.  Fresh blood welled up inside the wound but congealed and froze as soon as it did.

Tony was shouting over Steve’s cries.  “Core temp’s down below 28!”  He shook his head.  “He’s in shock!  This is killing him!”

Thor didn’t know what all of that meant, but he didn’t need to be told to stop.  Steve lurched from the table, his body locking in a spasm of powerful muscles contracting and bones bending.  He was held like that by some invisible demon for what seemed to be an eternity, stiff and contorted and tortured.  Then he slumped back down.  He was still and lifeless.

“God damn it,” Tony snarled, reaching for the ice but having no greater luck in dislodging it.  He retracted his hand in pain, ice covering the red of his glove.  Bruce came around quickly and leaned over Steve’s large frame, pulling the spoon away and tipping his head close to Steve’s mouth.  Thor caught a glimpse of Jane at the other end of the tables, her hands clasped together in a silent prayer, her eyes watery as she shook her head slowly.  The pain in her face was enough to stoke his rage again.  He was helpless!

“Did you find a medical kit?” Bruce yelled, tipping Steve’s head back so that his slack lips were parted.  “He’s not breathing.  The poison must have gotten to his lungs!”

“He’s still got a pulse,” Tony declared as Bruce pinched Steve’s nose shut and began breathing for their captain.  “But it’s weak, and his core temp is still falling fast.  Shit, shit, _shit_ , we need to do something!  That goddamn thing is fused with his flesh!”

“We will rip him worse pulling it out,” Thor said gravely.  A thought occurred to him as he watched Stark flounder for a second.  “Man of Iron, can your weapons generate enough heat to melt it?”

Tony twisted and regarded Thor as though he’d sprouted an additional head.  “If this was normal ice, sure, but nothing about this is _normal_.  It’s _seriously_ below freezing, damn near absolute zero if JARVIS isn’t bullshitting me, even though that can’t possibly be true, so I have no idea–”

“Stark, try!” Natasha cried.  Jane returned with a first aid kit, and at Bruce’s rushed instruction, she opened the case and dumped the contents to another table.  Darcy had another case, a smaller, yellow one with the letters A, E, and D blazoned on its front.  The two women found bandages and a small pen-like device.

Tony nudged Thor out of the way, raising his palms to expose the weapons glowing in their center.  “Keep everything still.  Like _perfectly_ still,” Iron Man’s stern voice demanded, and Thor shared a look with Volstagg before reaching across Steve’s body to pin both his limp wrists to the table.  If Steve did wake, he could hardly afford any further damage.  This would undoubtedly be a delicate process.  “Here we go.”

The repulsors ignited in very thin, controlled beams, the bright blue light striking the remainder of the ice weapon.  Thor found it difficult to watch, the light refracting in the solid ice so intensely, but he glanced as often as he dared.  At first nothing happened.  Then he began to detect that the ice was melting ever so slightly, that beads of blue and gray liquid began to drip down the shaft of the weapon.  Jane was there without being asked, her small form narrowly squeezing between the men crowded around the table with bandages in her hands.  These she placed around the wound to catch the melted ice as it came down.

They did nothing but frantically work and watch and breathe and hope for a long minute.  Banner continued to breathe for Steve, rhythmically counting, inhaling, and exhaling.  Periodically he pressed his fingers to Steve’s neck, and he never looked pleased with what he found.  Thor held everything very tightly as Stark kept his weapons on the ice, impatiently watching it melt at what seemed to be an excruciatingly slow rate.  Jane stood beside him, firm but frightened, keeping the icy liquid from entering the open wound as much as possible.  Nearly half the ice was gone.  “How’s it going, Tony?” Bruce asked worriedly, pausing between his breaths.  “I can’t find a steady pulse.”

“That’s because there isn’t one,” Tony answered.  He was trying to hide his terror and panic with sarcasm and anger, and it was failing miserably.  He was stock still, concentrating on keeping that deadly beam focused on the offending ice.

Thor felt his heart stop at that horrible diagnosis.  “He is fading,” he said softly, staring at Steve’s lax, ashen face.  The poison was well upon him.  His flesh was frozen beneath Thor’s hands.  “We are losing him.”

“Yeah,” Tony answered.  “But getting his heart going again isn’t going to matter unless we get this out.”  The ice was at the level of his chest now, melting much faster as it warmed.  Jane mopped up the bloody water.  A breath later it was below the skin, and Tony disengaged his weapons.  “Thor,” he called softly.  The God of Thunder released Steve and lent Stark his aid.  “I can’t go any further without cutting or burning him.  We gotta pull the rest.  I think it’s loose now.  It’s significantly warmer.”

Tony’s metal encased hands pushed gently on Steve’s chest, pulling the wound open as wide as he could without ripping the flesh further.  Through the blood and liquid, Thor could see the small remains of the ice.  He didn’t waste a moment being frightened or disgusted, gritting his teeth and sliding his hand in Steve’s chest.  He distanced himself from it all, even as Jane nearly gagged beside him, even as he felt the frozen flesh within, slick and stiff and unmoving under his probing fingers.  A moment was spent in this horrible quest, and then he got his grip around the ragged end of the icy blade and pulled it free.

Tony was right.  It was warm now, warm with the heat it had stolen from Steve’s body.

Thor leaned back, shaking in a storm of emotion and revulsion, tossing the bloody mess aside.  “Get pressure on it!  Hurry!”  He looked back to the flurry of frantic activity around their captain.  Jane pressed fresh bandages to the wound, watching as Bruce handed Tony the long, cylindrical device.  Tony jabbed Steve with it in the thigh.  “We need to start CPR!  What are his vitals?”

“Bad,” Tony answered breathlessly.  “Pulse 42.  Not breathing.  Core temp is 26 degrees and still falling.”

“God,” Bruce moaned.  “Get the AED, Jane.  Hurry!”

Darcy handed the yellow case to them, and Tony fumbled to get it open while Bruce continued to breathe for Steve.  There was a banging at the doors behind them, and then they burst open.  A slew of soldiers bearing the insignia of SHIELD rushed inside, guns raised and weapon lights cutting through the hazy shadows inside the diner.  Under their escort, paramedics followed.  Two immediately went to Barton where he drifted in and out of consciousness in Romanoff’s arms.  One went to the small child.  Another three ran over to the table.

Thor stepped away.  Volstagg released Steve’s legs, stumbling back as the Midgardians shoved their way to the table.  A cacophony of voices resounded in a barely controlled chaos of questions and exclamations.  One of the medics asked Jane to release the bandages, which she did, retreating to make room for the group trying to get access to the patient.  She took one look at Thor and staggered to him, her eyes shining with tears and her face crumpling into a sob.  He wrapped her into his arms, holding her short figure tightly to his chest.

“Shock him!”  Steve’s boots were all Thor could see of him now, and they jerked inhumanly against the table.

“No pulse.  Get a line in him!”

“Recharge.  Another shot of epi.  Jesus, is that ice in his chest?”

Steve writhed, jolting violently against the coats and table cloths again.  “Doctor Banner, step aside.  We need to intubate.”

“At least the cold is slowing the bleeding.  This should have killed him.”

“Should have?  He’s goddamn dead, or haven’t you noticed the lack of a heartbeat and breathing?” Stark snapped.

“Tony–”

“His core temp is too low,” Stark said.  “The drugs aren’t going to do anything unless we can get his metabolism up!”

“The serum should counteract that–”  Bruce’s voice was lost in the noise then.  One of the medics was compressing Steve’s chest while the others rushed about trying to stabilize him.  Minutes passed.  Thor watched, feeling increasingly lost and more and more detached as though none of this was real.  Just a horrific nightmare.  He could wake and find himself in his bed in Stark Tower…  At home in Asgard.  “–stop now.  The hypothermia could have preserved brain function.  Keep shocking him!”

“It’s hopeless.  He’s gone.”

_“Keep trying!”_

Another jolt.  Thor grimaced and closed his eyes.

“We got a pulse!”

He dared to look again, his heart leaping in his chest with the warmth of hope and excitement.  One of the medics had his hand pressed to Steve’s neck, counting the beats of his heart, and everyone was silent.  Waiting and watching and praying that this would last.  A few seconds crept away.  Then a minute.  The medic nodded solemnly.  “We got him back,” Bruce said, the relief and disbelief unmistakable in his tone.  He looked up, a tired, sorrowful smile twisting his lips.  “We got him back.”

 _Thank the Allfather_.

Behind them more medics came, carrying litters.  They had already loaded Barton onto one and were carrying him out, covered in blankets and with his hand clenched firmly into Natasha’s.  She looked back, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears and unspoken fear.  The second litter was brought to the tables, and the group of medics and the Avengers worked to move Steve’s limp body onto it.  Stark helped in as much as he could, and then the men rushed out, Banner staying close to Steve as they whisked him to safety.

“The hospital’s closer.”

“His vitals aren’t stable.  We need to get him warmed right now!”

“Hang on, Cap.  We’re getting you out of here…”

Stark looked about ready to collapse as he stumbled closer to Thor.  Volstagg laid a friendly hand on his metal shoulder as the other leaned back tiredly against another table.  Iron Man’s face plate retracted, and Tony gasped for breath, as though he’d been suffocating inside his suit.  “God damn it,” he moaned.  He was pale and seemed as though he was about to be ill.  “Holy hell.  What the hell happened out there?  Why did he…”  He couldn’t finish.  In a sudden fit of rage he threw one of the tables across the abandoned diner like it weighed nothing.  “Son of a bitch!”

The loud crash of the table banging against furniture on the other side of the room echoed in the heavy silence.  Suddenly Thor felt weary, felt every bruise, cut, and scrape to which the heat of battle had blinded him.  He felt deeply and miserably frozen.  Jane was shivering relentlessly in his arms, clinging to him with her head buried against the breastplate of his armor. He took off his red cloak and wrapped it around her tightly.  “Are you hurt?”  He’d asked her that so many times, it seemed, since this nightmare had begun.

She leaned back, regarded him with hazel eyes that bravely withheld further tears.  “Are you?”

The question shook him, bringing into stark realization all he had nearly lost and all he still might.  And with that came the fury again, fiery and pulsing, and he let it rush over him because any heat at all was preferable to the all-consuming winter around him and inside him.  He suddenly could not stand being so still and idle and _useless_.  He took Jane’s hand and walked quickly to Fandral and Sif, who stood over Loki with their weapons on him.  Thor loomed over him, every fiber of his being yearning to punish Loki for what he’d dared to try, for the damage he’d done to the Avengers and Midgard again.  For the hundreds killed when the Chitauri had invaded.  For the poor people of this sleepy desert town, frozen alive.  For Jane and Clint and Steve.  The need was so strong for a long, hateful moment he thought he would succumb.

But he didn’t.  “Take this wretch back to Asgard,” he ordered in a hoarse voice.

Sif regarded him with hard eyes.  “You are not returning with us?”

Thor said nothing, stalking away.  He held tight to Jane, silently vowing that he would never allow harm to threaten her ever again.

Outside in the wintry nightmare he reached forth his hand and summoned Mjölnir to him.  And then he followed his captain.


	4. Chapter 4

Darcy had told Thor on a quite a few occasions that he was a celebrity.  He hadn’t quite known what that meant until now.  This little county hospital in the middle of the desert in New Mexico was veritably flooded with people.  Most of them were what the Midgardians called “the media”, irritating, relentless pests that hounded them for pictures and statements and blurbs fit for mass social consumption.  News of what had happened in Puente Antiguo a few hours ago had traveled quickly, luring dozens and dozens of reporters, from small local newspapers to major television networks.  Thankfully, SHIELD had come in force as well, and a slew of agents was doing a fair job at keeping the mess away from the Avengers.  But even still, the hospital staff, accustomed to a quiet array of broken bones, minor sniffles, and an occasional major surgery, was wide-eyed and alarmed at the appearance of Earth’s mightiest heroes in their midst.  They stared unabashedly, sharing whispered comments and questions amongst themselves as the superheroes sat in the waiting room outside the surgical ward.  They gawked and spread their rumors and wondered, and it made the pain of what had happened that much harder to tolerate.

Thor could hardly stand the scrutiny.  He sat in a plastic chair that was too small for his tall and muscular frame, and because it was so uncomfortable, he could not keep still.  His patience was already worn incredibly thin, and it was taking every bit of his will to keep his temper in check.  Stark was less inclined to restrain himself.  He’d rid himself of his armor some time ago, revealing that he was badly bruised and scraped from the battle.  But he’d outright refused medical care, snapping cruelly at a young nurse who’d tried to suggest he have his ribs x-rayed and wrapped.  And then he’d taken to pacing, which he had monotonously kept up since their arrival in this waiting area.  He looked haggard and exhausted and in pain, but he refused to stop.  Truth be told, Tony’s nervous energy was only feeding Thor’s dark mood, and Thor’s festering guilt and anger was adding to Tony’s frustration, and it was growing increasingly difficult for both of them to keep calm and wait.

They were all that remained of the team.  Steve had been whisked to surgery the moment he’d arrived at this place.  Thankfully Bruce had not left his side, aiding these local physicians with treating Steve’s wound.  Steve’s enhanced physiology made dealing with his injuries more of a challenge, as Thor had learned in the past.  Rarely was their captain hurt, but when he was, his physical constitution was much superior to a regular man’s.  This was the result of the serum that had transformed Steve from a sick boy into Captain America, or so Thor had been told.  His body burned through energy far faster than a normal human’s did, and because of this he healed at a very rapid rate.  This also meant many of the customary Midgardian medicines had no effect on him.  It was both a blessing and a curse.  Thor prayed in this case his enhanced vitality would avail him; many an Asgardian had suffered and died from less serious wounds coated in that Jotun poison.  It was unthinkable to consider the worst case, so he tried not to.

Barton and Romanoff had also been transported to this hospital, where Clint had immediately received emergency care for his hypothermia.  Thor had not seen them since his arrival, but he had been informed by Tony that Clint would recover.  They had stabilized his body temperature, and he would suffer no ill or long-lasting effects from being buried and suffocated by the snow.  That was a small comfort, at least.  The mere possibility of losing two of their team to Loki’s attack was distressing. 

And Jane was with him.  She was truly unharmed; he’d insisted she be examined by the Midgardian doctors, despite her assurances that it was unnecessary.  The relief that had pounded through him had been palpable at learning that she had not grown sick with the cold or been otherwise hurt.  It was extremely lucky, and he knew it.  Knew it and hated that she had ever been in danger, that he could have lost her to Loki’s wrath.  He’d held her for quite some time, closing his eyes and burying his face into the sweet scent of her hair and breathing deeply of her.  What he’d nearly lost tormented him, even as she’d tried to comfort him.  Now she sat beside him, her hand entwined with his, her thumb sweeping in small circles over his knuckles.  Her head rested on his shoulder.  She could and should have been sleeping, but she wasn’t, keeping him company as they waited in anxious silence.  Darcy had gone earlier, surrounded by a SHIELD escort, to ensure that the lost child found his parents and to procure some coffee.  Even she had been mellowed by the traumatic events, pale but bravely holding back tears.  Thor tried to have faith that everything would turn out alright, but if even Darcy was silent and grief-stricken, then he felt hope was out of reach.

“What’ll happen to him?” Tony suddenly asked.  His rough voice drew Thor from his thoughts, and he looked up at the inventor.  Stark stood stiffly, his arms crossed over his chest.  The arc reactor glowed faintly beneath his t-shirt.  The harsh fluorescent light on the white tiles around them seemed too vulgar and bright, and Thor winced despite himself.  “Is he going to be punished?  Executed?”

Thor had thought that Tony was asking about Steve, but it was obvious he wasn’t.  This wasn’t something he wanted to think about, let alone discuss.  Jane’s hand tightened in his own.  “I know not,” he admitted.

“How the hell did he get out?” Tony demanded.  He wasn’t going to be appeased.  Thor was perhaps the closest with Steve, but Stark was his friend as well.  His relationship with Steve was a bit complicated and strained, as Steve had known Tony’s father in his own time, and that did not seem to sit well with either of them.  Tony often did anything and everything he could to tease Steve, to get under his skin and even belittle him, and Iron Man was not always the most obedient on the battlefield.  But despite all that, Tony cared about Steve as much as anyone did, if not more so.  “How in the hell did this happen?  This is so screwed up.  Loki blowing up a portion of Manhattan and killing hundreds and hundreds of people wasn’t enough of a sign that you needed to lock him up and throw away the goddamn key?”

Thor couldn’t help the ire burning in his veins.  “Choose your words carefully,” he hissed.  The warning in his voice was clear, and he hoped it would dissuade Stark from beginning an argument that would escalate.  Given their frayed tempers and tangible fear for Steve’s survival, it would not end well.  He stood, and when he did, he was quite a bit taller than Stark.  Tony didn’t step down or back away.  “I have been _here_ , helping _you_.  And the Nine Realms have been torn by strife and war, so the moments I have not spent at your side, aiding you in your battles, I have spent fighting for others!”

Whatever retort Tony was about to let loose was stilled by Jane.  She stood as well, grasping Thor’s arm and pulling him back gently.  “Easy,” she said softly.  “Ripping each other up doesn’t help anyone.  It wasn’t your fault.  Either of you.”

It took no small amount of will for Thor to unclench his fists and pull himself back from the tipping point.  Still, he did, grateful for Jane’s gentle, calming presence.  He grunted, looking away, grinding his teeth and hating this all.  Waiting had never been a particular strong suit of his; his mother often told him patience was a virtue, and one required by a king, but his was decidedly lacking.  In his youth it had been worse, but his time spent among the Midgardians had helped temper his hastiness.  Time meant so much more to them, every second one of a measured few, and he had learned to treasure them.  Steve had been instrumental in helping him to learn restraint, to appreciate the smaller things, the simpler things.

In fact, Thor had never met anyone quite so unequivocally _good_ as Steve Rogers.  In all his long years, he had never encountered someone so brave, so compassionate and true and so pure of heart, that he brought out the absolute best in everyone he knew.  Loki was their sworn enemy, a monster that had wreaked havoc on Earth and killed innumerable innocents…  To lay down his life for someone so damaged, so deranged and violent… Thor closed his eyes against the hurt piercing his chest.  Why had Steve saved him?  Why had he turned his back on the Frost Giant battling with him to prevent Loki’s death?  Why had he chosen to reach for Mjölnir instead of his shield?  Why…

“You guys hear anything?”

Thor turned and saw Natasha walking slowly down the hall.  Clint was beside her, trying his hardest to not appear completely dependent on her for support and failing miserably.  He was shuffling fairly clumsily, wearing a heavy, gray robe over hospital issue pajamas.  His face was sickly pale, his skin gray and ashen, his eyes ringed in purple and his lips still tinged blue.  He rolled a pole that carried a clear bag of some sort of liquid with him, and there was a plastic tube that connected the bag to his wrist.  Natasha held his arm.  She was pale as well, and although her expression was stoic and apparently unfazed, her eyes betrayed her worry.

“Not yet,” Tony answered.  Defeated and exhausted, he stumbled over to the plastic chair Thor had recently vacated and collapsed into it.  He looked at Barton.  “You okay to be up?”

Clint managed something of a nod.  “Yeah, okay enough.  What does it matter if I wait in bed or wait here?  Not gonna rest either way.”

Tony didn’t seem sure of that reasoning, but he didn’t question him further.  “What’s Fury saying?”

“SHIELD had a team escort the Asgardians out of the town and off the planet,” Natasha answered.  She helped Clint limp slowly toward another chair and then settled him in it.  He closed his eyes in pain and weariness, tipping his head back against the wall.  “Twenty-four people are dead.  It could have been much worse.”

Tony’s frown grew tighter.  “Maybe.”

“There’s a containment team there now and another on its way here,” she continued.  “The media’s already running with this.  They’re hysterical about another alien invasion, so it’s only a matter of time before the whole country panics.  He’s got Hill on damage control.”

“Seems a little late for that,” Clint murmured.  The archer was clearly exhausted.  Even in the warm waiting room of the hospital, he was shivering slightly.  “Damage has been done.” 

Nobody said anything to that for a long, aching moment.  Thor closed his eyes.  To think of what this world had lost because of his brother’s treachery…  The dead innocents.  The huge amount of monetary and property damage.  The intangible losses.  Clint’s sense of self as Loki had invaded his mind and taken control of his body.  Selvig’s sanity.  The world’s security and confidence.  Steve’s life.  It was too much.  No throne in all of the Nine Realms was worth that degree of wanton destruction.  The price of Loki’s jealous ambitions ran far too high.

Natasha sat gracefully beside Clint.  She folded her arms across her chest.  “He’s prepared to send whatever medical personnel from the Los Angeles office that we need.  He said he’d pull anyone from anywhere if it would help.”

“I don’t think it will matter.”

The soft, solemn declaration drew all their attention.  At the entrance to the waiting area stood Bruce.  The scientist fidgeted as their eyes fell upon him.  He looked haggard, white-faced and burdened, his hair mussed and his eyes hollow.  He shifted his weight on the shining floor, working his fingers nervously together around some folded papers.  His demeanor was more than enough to signify ill news, but Thor couldn’t even consider it.  None of them could, their gazes expectant and hopeful and fearful of the truth that was edging ominously closer.

Eventually Banner couldn’t stand the scrutiny, and the vacuous moment of tense silence became too much for him.  “Steve’s not going to make it.”

Silence.

The words hung on the still air, dangling cruelly before them.  Nobody had the strength to acknowledge them.  There was this unspoken, pathetic belief that leaving that awful statement unanswered could simply make it untrue.  As if ignoring it would invalidate it or erase it.  As if any of them had the power to do that.  None of them did.

Thor’s heart shuddered in pain.  He couldn’t bear this.  Not this.

Tony was on his feet.  Anger shone in his brown eyes, rage that was threatening to boil over.  “What the hell do you mean, he’s not gonna make it?  What’re you saying?”  He shook his head.  “What the hell, Bruce?”

Bruce dropped his gaze to his feet as though ashamed.  “The surgeons tried to repair the damage as best they could, but it’s just too late.  The poison’s in his blood.  It’s all through his body, and the super soldier serum’s not counteracting it, at least not fast enough.”  He tried to find the strength to look his teammates in the eye and failed.  “His body temperature is too low to keep him stable.  They’re trying to get it up, but nothing’s doing much good, and the strain it’s putting on his heart and lungs is too much.  His major organs are freezing, failing…”  Bruce shook his head.  “He’s dying.”

Thor heard the words, but he didn’t understand them.  All he could see was Steve throwing Mjölnir, was Steve’s body arching with the ice piercing his chest, was Steve suffering under their hands in that wintry hell while they had tried in vain to save him.  The niggling voice of doubt and misery had whispered in the dark corners of his mind then that it was futile, that the Jotun’s poison was hardly stoppable in his own kind, and a human, even one so well endowed with strength and vitality as Steve, would never survive.  He’d somehow managed to ignore that damnable voice of reason and cling desperately to hope.  Apparently that had been in vain, too.  They’d stopped the Frost Giants and gotten Steve out of there, but it didn’t matter.  “How long?”  He heard himself ask Bruce the same pathetically useless question Bruce had asked him back in that nightmare.  He thought it passing strange how so much had happened, how they had fought so hard, and yet nothing had changed.  His voice was quiet and empty.

Bruce looked defeated in every sense of the word.  “A few hours.  Maybe more.”  He closed his eyes.  “But probably less.”

Silence.  Again.  The heavy weight of finality was pressing down upon them, and no matter how hard they pushed back, it wouldn’t relent.  It was _crushing_.

Then Tony let loose a torrent.  “This is bullshit!  The serum is supposed to prevent him from getting poisoned!  There’s gotta be something we can do, some way to make it stronger, because he sure as hell isn’t dying today!”

 “If SHIELD offered to send someone, get them over here,” Jane said, looking among the Avengers.  “They have to have secret files or _something_ about this.”  She looked at Thor, hope shining in her eyes.  He couldn’t share her optimism.  They were grasping at straws, and they all knew it, but accepting the truth was out of the question.

“I can get a call directly into Fury,” Natasha offered.  “This place isn’t equipped to deal with this.  If we can get him to the West Coast office, they have state of the art equipment there and the best–”

“I don’t think he’ll survive the trip.  He’s in refractory shock,” Bruce explained.  “That’s irrecoverable, even for him.  The wound’s bad enough, and he’s freezing to death.”  Thor winced.  “There isn’t anything anyone can do.”

That wasn’t good enough.  Nothing was good enough.  It was lies, excuses, placating and trite nonsense.  Submission.  “You expect us to just sit here and wait for Captain America to die?” Tony snapped.

“Tony,” Bruce said softly, “don’t you think I’d do something if I could?  It’s moving too fast.  There’s no time to cook something up in a lab, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.  Whatever’s attacking him is from Asgard, not here.”

“Then _you_ do something!” Tony roared, rounding on Thor.  “Your planet, your poison!  You fix it!”

Thor winced, the eyes of the team turning to him.  He’d thought of it during these last strained hours.  There were things on Asgard, powerful things, healing magics…  But it was forbidden.  His relationship with his father was already so strained that he had tried not to consider the possibility, knowing its chances of success to be remote.  He had hoped so fervently that the Midgardian physicians could do something, anything, but now…

“Tony, stop.”  The billionaire’s eyes were flashing in accusation, but at Banner’s calm call he turned.  “Even Erskine and your father couldn’t have foreseen the need to protect him from an alien poison.  It’s just too late.”

That cut through Tony’s denial, his blind rage, and sobered him instantly.  He closed his eyes, suddenly seeming very small and weak, and slumped into himself as he sat again.  “God damn it…” he moaned into his hands.  “This isn’t happening.”

They didn’t speak for what felt to be a torturous eternity.  Nobody had the strength to say anything, not that there was much to be said.  There was no way out this time.  Steve was the one who led them, who always had a plan of action, who always knew what to do.  He was the source of calm, the paragon of strength and bravery.  When the odds were bleak and the fight was difficult, he was the one who got them through it.

But he couldn’t get them through this.

Barton let loose something that could have been a choked sob.  The strangled gasp cut through the numbness that surrounded Thor’s heart, and the demigod winced.  Clint, who always had his emotions under control, regarded Bruce with watery eyes.  “So what do we do?”

Bruce looked to be at a complete loss.  “Keep him as comfortable as we can.  Stay with him.  He’s conscious most of the time…  He’s in a lot of pain.”

That was too much, the one thing he could not bear to hear.  Thor had never felt so utterly defeated.  The lights were too bright.  The hurt in his head and in his heart was too sharp.  Tony scrubbed his eyes with his hands until they were red.  “That’s it?”

Bruce released a slow, wavering breath.  “I’m sorry.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?”

 _No.  Nothing can ever make this right._   Thor felt the heavy thudding of his heart against his breast, each strained beat as loud as thunder.  Jane weaved her fingers into his own, but she was turned away from him, her eyes closed and her face locked into an expression of dismay and sorrow.  He needed to act, to do _something_ , and the others were looking to him for an answer, and rightly so.  Stark was speaking out of grief, but the man was a genius and never a fool.  Thor was responsible for this, and that made it his problem to fix.  But his feet were stuck to that awful gleaming floor, and his hands were limp against his sides, and everything was too far away and too hard to reach.

He wasn’t aware of the moments that slipped away in the miserable silence until Banner walked hesitantly closer.  “He, uh…”  The scientist held out of his hand, those folded papers loosely grasped in his fingers.  “He had this tucked in his suit.”

Tony looked blearily up at what Bruce held before his eyes.  One was a piece of white paper, and it was folded around a yellowed envelope that was wrinkled and marred in the corner with a few drops and one larger smear of blood.  Stark stared at it as if he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing for a long while, and then he tentatively reached up to grab the papers.

He unfolded the white piece.  His dark eyes narrowed as he read what appeared to be a letter.  “Dear Captain Rogers,” he said, “I regret to inform you that Margaret Carter passed away on …”  He trailed off.  He swallowed, his hand shaking slightly.  “Passed away on April 13th at 9:17 in the morning.  She died peacefully in her sleep from complications from a recent struggle with pneumonia.  She had requested in the event of her death that this letter be delivered to you.”  Tony paused again.  “You have my deepest condolences.”

Suddenly so much of that morning made sense.  Steve’s pallor, his shaken appearance, his lack of concentration during their training session…  His emotional outburst.  His unwillingness to discuss whatever was troubling him.  Thor’s heart ached.  He was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t awoken in some sort of perverted reality, where the worst of horrors were being piled and piled upon him.

Tony set aside the letter and looked at the aged envelope with a mixture of alarm and sorrow.  It was still sealed.  Steve hadn’t even read it.

Something inside Thor simply snapped.  The tether keeping his anger in check frayed completely, and the hot fury poured into his mind and body and soul.  Suddenly the urge to hurt something was too powerful to ignore, and he found himself driving his fist in the wall beside him.  It was frail and thin and buckled immediately with the incredible force behind his blow, and his hand burst through with a spray of dust.  The loud bang startled the others, but nobody said anything.  He stood there, retracting his fist from the sizeable hole, and then braced both his hands alongside it and leaned into the meager support of the wall and weathered the storm of his rage.

Jane was there, wrapping her arm around his midsection.  “Don’t,” she implored.  Her eyes were filled with tears.  “Please…”

He looked at her, struggling to compose himself, to slow his charged breath and thundering heart.  Then he couldn’t suffer standing still another second.  He devoured the width of the small waiting room in one huge stride and snatched the yet sealed envelope from Tony’s hand.  “Hey!” the billionaire called, annoyance filling his tone.  “What are you doing?”

Bruce shook his head.  “Thor, wait!  Where are you going?”

“Thor!” Jane cried.

He didn’t answer them, stalking away, the letter clenched in his hand.

* * *

Steve’s room was overly green to Thor’s eyes.  Green tiled floor.  Green bed sheets and blankets.  Pale green walls.  When daylight streamed through the solitary window, it cast a green hue through the curtains, and what should have been golden and warm turned dull and sickly.  Everything was muted and unnatural, as if nothing was quite real.

Passing the SHIELD agents and police officers gathered outside the door, he stepped inside the room.  Two doctors near the foot of the bed spoke quietly of warm saline infusions and the possibility of employing something called a heart lung machine to achieve something else called active core rewarming.  They clearly thought little of the chances of success, and their conversation ceased when they noticed his entrance.  A few nurses quickly finished their work, and they all regarded him with wide eyes and unmasked trepidation as they left, slipping by his towering form with as wide a berth as they could manage in the small room.  Thor wondered how he must look, dark and tense with wrath.  But he couldn’t care.  He was alone with his friend, his friend who was nothing like his normal strong and courageous self, his friend who’d been reduced to a frozen, withering husk of what he had been.

Tony was right to ask.  How had this happened?  Why?  _Why?_

He suddenly had to know.  There needed to be an answer.  A thousand horrible thoughts swirled about his head, teasing him with their implications.  He didn’t hold onto any of them, the pain and sorrow and anger too great.  The guilt was even greater.  He was across the room before he’d even thought to walk.  And then he knelt at Steve’s bedside, unable to look away from his captain and the shadow of death looming over him.  Steve was so pale, his skin gray and glistening with ice.  He was buried under numerous blankets, and a myriad collection of medical machinery was connected to him.  Thor did not know what the numbers meant, what the flashing lights and unsteady beeps signified, but he was certain none of it heralded anything good.  Steve was breathing in short, trembling gasps through dried, bleeding lips, his face clenched into a harsh grimace.  Frost covered his mouth, his nose, and his eyes.  He was very clearly in agony.

“Steven?” Thor whispered.  Steve’s expression remained taut with his suffering, his eyes squeezed shut as he panted, and Thor wondered if the other man was too far gone in delirium to know he was there.  He gently pulled the heavy blankets aside and reached under them to find his friend’s hand.  His eyes widened at what he saw. There were spots of frostbite all over his flesh: haphazardly dotting his fingers, spreading up his arm under the hospital dress, reaching up to cover his neck as though some monster had strangled him.  Angry black and blue and purple splotches where his body was dying.  He quickly snatched Steve’s hand and put the blankets back, unable to stand the sight.

Steve’s hand was heavy and as cold as ice in his hands.  His vigorously rubbed warmth back into the blue flesh, disliking how the skin was frozen enough to resist movement beneath his fingers.  He worked harder at it.  “Steve?”

Much to his surprise, Steve opened his eyes to slits.  He looked over, taking a painful minute to focus.  A glint of recognition shone in his hazy blue eyes, and his labored breathing hitched as he tried to speak.  “… s’alright…”

“No,” Thor responded, shaking his head.  His voice was hoarse with the great swell of emotion tightening his throat.  “It is not.”  He could not restrain the question.  His eyes stung with tears he refused to shed, and his heart strained in his chest until he could hardly breathe.  “Why did you do this?” he asked in a harsh whisper.  “Why?  For the love of everything good, _why_?”

Steve trembled roughly, relentlessly, his body wracked with violent shivers.  He could barely speak, but he tried anyway.  “He’s – he’s your brother.”  He swallowed thickly and coughed and choked on his breath.  His hand tightened painfully in Thor’s.  “I know what – what it’s like to lose your brother.”

That wasn’t good enough.  It might have been true – probably it _was_ true – but it wasn’t enough.  The unpleasant thought drifting about the back of Thor’s mind reared, loud and insatiable, and he couldn’t quiet it.  “Why did you not tell me what happened?  Why didn’t you tell me about her?  You suffered in silence…”

“Couldn’t – you couldn’t change anything,” Steve answered.  His voice was cracking more with each halting word.

“That does not matter,” Thor said angrily.  “You are my friend.  You have no need to grieve in silence.”  He lowered his tone, the irate expression falling from his face.  “I know how much you loved her.”

Steve choked out a sob.  His tears were crystals clinging to his eyelashes.  His lips turned in half of a rueful grin.  “’Least I get to – get to see her again.”

That made it so much worse somehow.  Thor lowered his head in weariness, bracing his brow on his hands where they clasped Steve’s so tightly.  He sat silently for a moment, trying not to listen to that voice in the dark places of his heart that was crying cruelly that Steve had given away his life because it had become a life not worth living.  Peggy, the only woman he had ever loved, was dead.  She’d been snatched from him by the events of the war, by the sacrifice he’d made to thwart the violent plan of an evil tyrant that would have claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents.  The timid first moments of love they had shared together had been dashed, and she had lived on without him.  And when he had been found, she had been an old woman.  He knew Steve had seen her, that he had traveled across the ocean to England to visit her in the twilight of her life.  It was almost as if she’d held on just to see him again, as if she’d known against all odds and all evidence to the contrary that he hadn’t been killed seventy years ago.

Thor imagined how that must have felt, to lose someone he loved so completely, to lose the woman to whom he’d given his heart.  To lose Jane.  Loki had wanted to strike at him via Jane, and he’d been right to think it would truly be a devastating wound.  He wondered if he would find life worthwhile in the face of so much pain, of years spent without Jane at his side.  He wondered if he would have the strength to overcome that and keep living.

He banished the question without an answer.

Thor reached into his armor and pulled free the envelope.  Steve’s gaze sluggishly settled on the yellowed paper.  He said nothing, shivering, his eyes slipping shut again.  Thor turned the envelope over, sliding his fingers along its edges and bent corners.  He slipped his thumb along the seal.  “Shall I read this to you?” he asked.  It was the only thing he could do now.  It was the only part of this he could fix.

Steve moaned, squeezing his eyes shut tightly again and writhing under the blankets.  The monitors around the bed beeped more frantically as he struggled against the pain, as he reached his icy hand toward Thor and pulled the letter away.  “No.  Doesn’t – doesn’t matter now,” he ground out.  “Never woulda worked.”

“You do not know that,” Thor argued, frustrated that Steve would say such a thing.  It was the pain talking, surely.  It was the grief.

Steve swallowed stiffly.  “SHIELD doctors…  They told me that I – that she would’ve died – that I would’ve outlived her.  Decades, maybe more.”  He opened his eyes again, and he looked up but didn’t seem to see anything.  “Would’ve watched her… watched her grow old and die anyway…  Thor, it hurts…”

“I know,” Thor whispered.  He did know.  More than he ever wanted to admit.

They were silent for what felt to be a long time.  Steve seemed to drift away and lose consciousness.  Thor let him go, praying that there would be peace in slumber.  But he came back.  “Couldn’t let him die,” he said softly.  “He’s your brother.”

Thor couldn’t stand the pain anymore.  “So are you,” he said through clenched teeth.  The world grew blurry as his eyes burned.  He took back Steve’s hand and held it tightly between his own.  “So are you.”

Steve smiled, truly smiled, at that.  It was a show of his strength and courage that he could find acceptance.  It was everything one would expect of Captain America.  Grace in the face of tremendous pain, of the inevitable end.  Self-sacrificing.  Loyal.  Compassionate.  Truly this world would lose one of its finest.  This nation would lose the symbol of its integrity and virtue.  The Avengers would lose their leader.

But Thor felt he would lose more.  Perhaps it was selfish, but his rage and guilt permitted him no other thought.  For all his strength and power, for an endless life of experience, he felt woefully ill-equipped to face the death of this one mortal.  Since coming to Midgard and falling in love with Jane, since joining the Avengers and fighting alongside newfound friends and allies, a mortal life had come to mean so much more to him.  It was fleeting, but it was not to be taken for granted.  It was finite, certainly.  But in its short span, the capacity for good, for love and devotion, was far beyond even a god’s.

That was what he was to humans.  A god with the power to change anything.

But he couldn’t change this.

Steve squeezed his hand with all that remained of his once immeasurable strength.  “S’alright,” he promised again.  “It’ll be alright.”

It wouldn’t be, but Thor only smiled through his tears and nodded and kept rubbing whatever warmth he could into Steve’s frozen hand.


	5. Chapter 5

It was only a matter of time.

There wasn’t much left.  It wasn’t enough, but somehow it also was too much.  It wasn’t enough to sit there at their captain’s bedside as he struggled and battled and lost and faded.  It wasn’t enough   to hold his hand and watch as the nurses and doctors tried in vain to save his life, as they tried to fight the ice filling his body.  It wasn’t enough to whisper empty promises; they were a poor weapon against inevitability.

And yet these moments spent so infuriatingly helpless were far too many.  The slow passage of each was excruciating, so miserably frustrating, that the Avengers rapidly began to pray for the end simply to put a stop to the suffering.  Steve was in so much pain.  The medicines did nothing to relieve it.  It was torturous to watch him writhe in delirious agony, to witness him reliving the worst moments of his past.  It was too much, knowing there was nothing that could be done to stop it. 

 _If it is to end,_ Thor thought angrily, _then let it end._

Thor was nothing if not a warrior.  He had been trained to be one since childhood, learning the martial arts, the ways of war, from his father and Asgard’s greatest champions for as long as he could remember.  And warriors valued dignity, the honor of a clean and noble death in the rages of battle, the glory of giving one’s life to stop one’s enemy.  And the way Steve was dying was not noble.  This felt to be an eternity of suffering, of shivering hard enough to crack teeth and bones, of icy skin and frosted eyes, of pain and sadness.  It was infuriating to see their brave captain reduced to this, to a dying husk of what he had once been, a frozen shadow of his former mighty and infallible self.  This was not right.  This was not fair.

Thor had never so badly in his life wanted to destroy something.  He had never been adept at controlling his emotions, but these trying events had damaged his already poor composure.  He paced.  He sat and veritably crawled with anxious energy.  He couldn’t be still.  The urge to do something was downright driving, as if any action would be better than none at all.  It was impossible to simply sit and let this horrible thing happen but that seemed to be all they could do.  Despite the seeming inevitability of Steve’s death, Director Fury had dispatched all of the medical and research resources SHIELD had to offer.  Thor had stood at the window of Steve’s room and watched the black trucks and SUVs arrive.  Dozens of SHIELD agents and personnel unloaded medical equipment outside, and they had quickly erected mobile laboratories filled with cutting edge technology.  Tony and Bruce had immediately gone to meet the SHIELD scientists and doctors, bearing samples of Steve’s blood and some hope that maybe something could be done.  Admittedly Thor understood nothing of Midgardian science and medicine; the conversations the two geniuses shared at times left his mind reeling at the complexities.  Perhaps they could develop something to save Steve, or at least ease the symptoms.  Tony had significantly more faith in their skills than Bruce did.  But Thor knew better.  He’d seen comrades die of less.  He hadn’t had it within him to disabuse them of their hopes.  Doing something _was_ better than doing nothing.

So as they rushed down to work, he’d remained at Steve’s side.  He’d held his hand through the worst of the tremors, when Steve breathed through clenched teeth and cried frozen tears.  He’d sat and watched the slow rise and fall of Steve’s broken chest when the fits had quieted, observing each halting breath and praying it would not be his last.  He’d walked the room like a caged animal, restless and desperate and trapped in a storm of emotion.  Part of him had given up, surrendered like a damnable coward, and another part held steadfast to some shred of faith that the worst would not come to pass.  These two sides warred viciously with each other, bathing his heart in the warmth of hope one moment and then dousing the flames with icy water in the next.  And worse than this was the wretched guilt.  The guilt that Steve would die for Loki.  The guilt that Steve would die like this, suffering without peace or dignity.  The guilt that Steve had lost the woman he’d loved without ever having _known_ her, without a lifetime spent at her side.  The guilt that he had Jane and Steve had never had Peggy.  The guilt that that letter was still tucked inside his armor, sealed.  Steve hadn’t wanted to read it, but perhaps he would change his mind.  Thor would be ready if he did.  It felt heavier than anything Thor had ever carried.

He wanted to _hurt_ something.

“Hey.”  The quiet call from the doorway drew him from his dark thoughts, and he lifted his chin from where it rested on his fists and looked over his shoulder.  Clint stood there, garbed still in hospital attire and a heavy robe.  He looked pale and sick.

“You should not be out of bed,” Thor admonished wearily.

Clint shrugged.  He’d been detached from the IV he’d had earlier, and Thor took that as a sign that his health was improving.  The lavender circles about his eyes were still stark against the whiteness of his face, and the dark shadow of the beginnings of stubble framing his jaw made him only seem more gaunt.  He walked slowly inside the room, his eyes focused slowly on Steve.  “How’s he doing?” he asked softly.  His tone was unreadable.

Thor released a slow breath, dropping his hands and slumping slightly into the plastic chair one of the nurses had gotten for him a while ago.  He did not wish to seem cruel or cross, but he could not keep the venom from his voice.  “He is dying.  How do you think he is doing?”

Clint didn’t seem bothered by the short response.  “What did the doctors say?”

Thor shook his head, looking upon Steve again and finding his friend unconscious and shivering.  Steve was less and less aware.  “They are flooding him with warmed fluids to little avail.  They are considering using a heart-lung machine, whatever that is, to try and warm his core, but Banner advised them against that.  It would, as he said, only postpone the inevitable without a cure, and the procedure would be painful and dangerous.”  He looked to the medical equipment surrounding the bed, to the monitors and machines.  He’d learned enough over the last hour or so to basically interpret the numbers.  “His life signs are failing.”

Clint looked at the monitors as well.  Low blood pressure.  Low body temperature.  Weak respiration and poor pulse rate.  “Yeah,” he murmured.

“Stark was hopeful, but I think it is mainly desperation,” Thor said emptily.  “And denial.”

“Denial is what he does best,” Barton responded.  He shuffled over to another plastic chair stationed beside the bed where the other Avengers had come and gone over the past hour.  Tony and Bruce had been first, Banner watching their captain with deep-set grief in his brown eyes and Stark with rage.  Neither had been brave enough to touch Steve’s frost laden hand.  They’d gone what seemed to be a lifetime ago.  Then Natasha had come, but she had been silent, dark with sorrow and other things Thor couldn’t read.  He’d stepped outside in the hallway and allowed the Black Widow a moment of privacy, but he’d still seen her press her lips to Steve’s brow and then to his icy and unmoving mouth.  He hadn’t heard her soft words, but the tears gathered in her eyes were plain enough as she’d rushed away.  Natasha and Steve had grown closer during their many missions together for SHIELD, apparently a good deal closer than the demigod (and perhaps even the soldier) had realized.  Thor wondered at the pain she would suffer at his death.

And now Barton was there.  Where Tony was difficult to deal with and Bruce was always calm and matter-of-fact and Natasha was compassionate in her own way, Clint he found to be a bit of a mystery.  Their introduction during the Battle of New York had been brief, as Clint had been recently freed from servitude from Loki.  Thor would have expected fury or at least a blatant desire for revenge more than a simple “get in line” in reference to settling the score with Loki.  Months had passed since then.  Thor had no frame of reference for what Clint had been like before Loki had taken his mind, so it was impossible for him to tell if the archer had returned to his previous self.  He did, however, get the distinct impression that Barton did not entirely trust him.  It was to be expected, he supposed, and he didn’t think it was wholly purposeful.  Clint did not seem to trust many, with the exception of Natasha.  And Steve.  He didn’t know what Hawkeye would say or do now.

“Can’t you do something?” Clint asked.  His tone wasn’t harsh or accusing.  It was simply a question.

Thor clenched his hands.  “I do not know.  Even if…  It is forbidden, and even if it were not…”  He didn’t know if he was strong enough to face his father’s rejection, not when that rejection would lead to Steve’s death.  And that was, of course, assuming he would even be allowed to bring a mortal man to Asgard.  He was a prince, but there were laws for good reasons.

“This is all such a goddamn waste,” Clint angrily muttered, staring darkly at Steve’s body.  Thor twitched, dreading the conversation he now knew was coming.  He didn’t have the strength or fortitude to weather Clint’s anger or despair.  He didn’t think he could stand the accusations he knew Clint was aching to put upon him; they were the same foul things that had been twisting about his mind and heart for hours.  “It’s not right.  Not any of it.  What the hell was he thinking?”

Thor couldn’t mention the fears he harbored deep inside about Steve succumbing to his grief and literally throwing his life away.  He couldn’t face that, as though ignoring it would make it not true or force it to disappear entirely.  “He is noble,” Thor said quietly, “to a fault at times.”

“He’s worth so much more than this.”

He turned icy eyes to his companion.  “I was not aware you possessed the wisdom to judge the worth of one life over another,” he said tensely.

Clint glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.  “You don’t get to sit there and try to convince me that Loki is a better person, is more _valuable_ , than Steve is.”

Thor shook his head, feeling the burn of his returning wrath, as he looked back to Steve.  A weak puff of air fled their captain’s lips with every fast, strained gasp.  “He was not always as he is now,” he softly declared.  “Once he was kind.  He embraced life and love.  He was good.”

“A good person doesn’t let greed and ambition and jealousy control him.  He’s a slave to it.  I know because he made me a slave to him.”  Clint’s hand squeezed into a fist at his side.  “Back then, I touched his mind when he touched mine.  I saw what was in his heart.  It was black.”

Thor closed his eyes in pain.  Loki had perhaps once been his brother, but there was nothing left of him now that Thor could love.  Yet he _did_ love him.  Despite what he had done, all of the destruction and devastation he had caused, he couldn’t simply let him go.  Loki had been locked away in Asgard’s dungeons, and Thor had been so involved in maintaining peace and order in the Nine Realms that it had been a simple matter to forget these dark shadows still clinging to his spirit.  Perhaps his brother had been thwarted and imprisoned, but _nothing_ had been resolved when Midgard had been saved.  Not truly.  He had ignored the demons, the hurt and betrayal and grief, and things had been left to smolder and fester.  Perhaps had he gone to see Loki, perhaps had he mustered courage enough to face him, he could have made him see reason.  He could have healed this rift between them and none of this would have happened.

But he hadn’t.  And Steve was dying because of it.  Despite all that, Thor still could not make himself wish Loki dead.  He felt like a traitor himself for that.  “Perhaps Steve saw something you or I couldn’t,” Thor said.  He so desperately wanted to believe that.

Clint didn’t.  “No.  He’s beyond redemption.”  Thor’s expression must have betrayed how much that pained him.  “Has he ever once expressed _any_ regret over what he’s done?  Even the tiniest bit?”  Barton’s words were coming faster and were filled with barely restrained fire.  “Has he ever apologized?  _Ever?_ ”

“Condemn him if you will,” Thor returned, his voice rough and strained.  “What good does it do?  It will not save Steven, and it will not make any of us feel better.  It will not make this right.”

If that made any difference to Clint, it wasn’t obvious.  He bent over, sitting so still with a storm of violent emotions swirling in his eyes, his elbows jabbed into his thighs.  “He’s a jealous bastard,” he said.  “He wants what you have, and he’s willing to kill and betray anyone to get it.  He’d kill you in a second if he thought that would get him his precious throne.  _I know he would_.  That childhood you shared that you think means so much?  It means nothing to him.”  Clint shook his head and Thor thought his eyes were glimmering with tears before he blinked and cursed and rubbed them roughly.  He was betrayed, betrayed that Steve had chosen Loki over his friends, betrayed that Steve would die for someone who was nothing more than a villain to their world.  In a split second, he’d made a decision, and even if it had spared a life, it hadn’t been the right one.  That was the simple and easy conclusion, at any rate.  It was the only one afforded to Clint’s battered heart.  This sort of pain was beyond understanding.  The Avengers needed Captain America.  The world needed Captain America.  And worse than this being a death without dignity, it was one without closure.

Thor understood that because part of him felt the same.

The silence returned, filled with pounding hearts and the soft, steady beeping of the machines and Steve’s raspy breathing.  Clint relaxed ever so slightly, but the hurt his words had spurned was slow to abate.  Thor settled his blurry gaze on the coarse fabric of the quilt that covered Steve.  It was a bit ratty and rough, obviously well-used.  Absently he traced the loose threads.  Everything was coming apart.

“He’s gonna die for _nothing_.”

The bitterness in Clint’s voice was damning.  Thor’s hands clenched together hard enough to crack bones and break skin.  It was all he could do to keep the fury contained, to pull himself back from the edge.

One of the machines wailed, and Thor snapped to attention, watching frantically as the little lines on the monitors spiked wildly.  A breath later Steve’s body convulsed.  He flailed so suddenly and so violently that the entire hospital bed shook with the force of it.  “Help!” Clint called, standing and running as swiftly as he could to the door.  “We need help in here!”

Thor barely avoided the swipe of Steve’s arm, reaching for his captain’s straining form.  “Steven!”  He pressed his hands to Steve’s shoulders, trying to restrain him as gently as possible as he seized.  An inhuman howl of agony was wrested from Steve’s white lips with a breath of frozen air, and his face contorted in anguish as he struggled against an unseen foe.  The monitors continued their screeching.  Panic made Thor’s heart pound, and his eyes widened in horror.

“What’s happening?” Clint demanded, returning to the bed.  “What is this?”

“I do not know,” Thor responded, glancing over his shoulder to his teammate.  “Stay back!”  He was unsure how much of Steve’s strength yet remained.  Before this he could kill a man with a blow that had all of his power behind it, and with the way he was struggling, a wayward fist or foot would likely cause injury.  Another desperate cry fled from their captain.  He could hardly breathe, screaming until his lungs failed him, and then his mouth stretched open soundlessly.  The blankets were kicked and pushed away in the struggle, and Steve’s hand found its way around Thor’s forearm.  It was white with ice.

“Oh my God,” Clint whispered in a mixture of terror and awe.  Then the archer turned again and stumbled back to the door.  “Somebody help us!  _Come on!_ ”

Help?  The idea was laughable, but a stampede of doctors and nurses came all the same.  There was a flurry of jargon, things Thor couldn’t understand, orders for drugs and hasty announcements of tachycardia and elevated blood pressure and plunging body temperatures and how that was utterly impossible.  Steve lurched beneath him, tears frozen on his eyelids, heaving for every breath.  “You need to get out of the way!” one of the doctors snapped.  “Jesus, we need to get his heart rate down or he’ll arrest!”

But Thor refused to move.  Steve’s eyes had come open, and he was staring at him in pain and fear.  “Steve,” Thor said as calmly as he could.  “I am with you.  Look at me.  Focus on me.”

Steve’s grip on his arm squeezed tighter.  The cold was vicious against his throbbing skin.  “Thor!”  Desperately he held to him, pulling him closer.  “It hurts!”  His jaw snapped shut with a hoarse groan.  He shuddered again, and the medical team fought to keep him still.  “What – what’s happening to me?”

Thor helplessly shook his head, glancing at Clint.  The archer was white with absolute horror.  Steve screamed again, his back arching off the bed, his other hand twisting in the blankets.  The monitors shrieked, alarms blaring and lights flashing.  Thor distantly heard announcements over the hospital’s sound system and prayed someone would find Tony or Bruce.

“Somebody get a crash cart!” yelled one of the doctors.

“His heart rate is approaching 200!”

“I’ve never seen anything like this…”

The air abruptly turned cold around the bed.  Thor saw his own breath in front of his face.  Icy air radiated from Steve’s writhing form as the room temperature plummeted.  Then with a blast a frigid wave struck them.  There was screaming; one of the nurses fell away, covering her frost-bitten face.  Thor cried out as cold burned into his arm.  The wave of wintry hell swirled around them for just a second before fading as quickly as it had come.

He looked down.

Steve’s hand and forearm had become clear, blue ice.  It was as though the flesh and bone had turned to water and then frozen solid.  It could have been beautiful, a sculpture of ice and snow with exquisite detail, but it was not.  It was devastating.

“Thor,” Steve whispered.  He had settled weakly against the bed.  Fractals of ice spread along his cheeks and brow, slowly creeping across the pink of his skin.  His eyes were deep and dark and filled with sorrow.  “Please… let me die.”

* * *

The Jotuns’ magic could freeze a warrior alive in an instant, transforming the body to unbreakable ice in an explosion of winter’s power.  Thor had witnessed this in the past, watching helplessly as his comrades were struck in battle and instantly killed.  Their icy statues were an eternal testament to their last moments, locked in time and place, weapons raised and faces clenched in pain and surprise.  What was befalling Steve he hadn’t expected, this slow and unrelenting attack.  Banner had mentioned something about the serum flowing in Steve’s veins, that it was fighting the poison all it could, but it was losing ground.  His right hand and arm to his elbow was solid ice.  Part of his left leg was as well.  The area around the wound in his chest was frozen.  It was a battle that could not be won.

However, the serum was merely a collection of chemicals fused into Steve’s cells.  It didn’t know that surrender was the better option at this point.  It couldn’t give up the fight.  It couldn’t let down its shield.  In this case, that which had bestowed endless strength and vitality upon him would become a curse.  And none of them was willing to consider anything else, any other way of ending his life.  Maybe it was what he wanted, but even that was too difficult a thing to admit.  Maybe it would ease his suffering, but it was too terrible to contemplate.  So they lingered, barely able to watch as Steve was returned to the ice from which he had barely escaped not long ago.  It was sad, to end up back where he started, to be found in the future only to again be lost.  All of the misery compounded until these last moments were too horrific to face.

So Thor wasn’t facing them.  He was standing outside of Steve’s room in the narrow corridor of this small, claustrophobic hospital.  The walls around him were that same ugly green, the paint nicked and faded from years of mistreatment.  The floors shone with that same overly polished gleam.  The air felt tight and suffocating.  Wearily he leaned into the wall, for the moment allowing all his weaknesses to show in the vacant hallway.  He had kept his vigil until he could stand it no longer.  Now he was escaping, leaving Steve with the rest of the Avengers.  Natasha had arrived immediately after Steve’s last attack, breathless and silently stricken to see what was happening to their leader.  She had grabbed Clint and pulled him away before promptly contacting Tony. He and Bruce had come as soon as they could.  But they were without answers.  Steve hadn’t woken since, not even when Bruce had examined his arm and pulled Thor’s flesh free where it had fused with the fingers of Steve’s hand.  No one could bear to touch the ice; the cold immediately damaged skin and muscle.  The slightest brush against it was painful, and that was the sort of torture being levied upon Steve every second as the ice consumed him from the inside out.

Now the team was in there saying their good-byes perhaps, although Thor couldn’t imagine any of them uttering heart-felt and teary whispers at their captain’s bedside.  They were all too hardened to show that level of vulnerability.  The tension among his friends had been palpable.  Nobody expected Steve to survive much longer.  Once the ice reached his heart, he would die.  And there was nothing they could do.  Nothing.

There was the soft sound of footsteps down the hall.  Thor opened eyes that had closed and looked to see Jane walking toward him.  She had left Steve’s room a little before to seek some reprieve and sustenance, and he was now extremely glad she hadn’t witnessed what he had.  She had gathered her abundant brown hair into a messy pony tail.  In her hand she carried a tablet computer, the sort one could control through touch.  “I need you to look at this,” she said as she approached him.

He reached for her, desperate for comfort, and she linked her hand with his and allowed him to roughly pull her close.  She immediately saw the wound on his arm where the doctors had bandaged it.  “What happened?” she asked, pulling away from his chest and looking into his eyes.

He couldn’t hide his tears anymore.  “This is my fault,” he whispered.  “He is dying.”

“Thor.”  She looked aghast, though with which part of what he’d said he wasn’t sure.  It took her a beat to recover herself, and she shook her head.  She laid her hand to his cheek, wiping away the wetness from it.  “It isn’t your fault.”

“Loki is my brother.  It is his hatred toward me that has endangered your world yet again.  I was… I was blind to his faults for so many years, and even now…”  He couldn’t finish, ashamed for what he felt.  He pressed his lips frantically to her brow and held her tightly.  “What if I had lost you?”

“You didn’t,” she said quietly.  “You won’t.”

He couldn’t think about that.  He couldn’t think about how unfair it was that he stood there, alive and healthy, with Jane in his arms and Steve would die, alone.  He just couldn’t.

They embraced for a moment, silent, drawing strength from each other.  Thor breathed deeply of her, struggling to find some peace.  “I need to ask you something,” she finally said, returning to why she’d come.  She pulled away and brought the tablet up in front of him.  “Is this real?”

He blinked the bleariness from his eyes, trying to focus on the bright image on the shining surface.  His brow furrowed in confusion.  “Yes,” he answered after reading the text quickly.

“This article talks about these apples that can bestow immortality, and it’s not the only one I found,” she said quickly, and her agile fingers swept across the screen.  Other pages flashed in front of him.  Each bore a Midgardian depiction of Idunn.  None truly did her justice.  “It’s so ingrained in mythology that these apples represent youthfulness and long life.  If it’s real…”

He knew immediately what she was implying.  “It is forbidden.”

“Take him to Asgard,” she went on, ignoring his quick dismissal as though she’d anticipated it.  “Get him help.  You’re the prince.”

It hurt to consider what she was saying.  He _knew_ it was impossible.  The life-saving nectar was rarely bestowed in times of great injury; many Asgardians believed that if it was fate’s will to be slain, then that should not be circumvented.  Idunn’s apples bestowed long life, but they were not to be tools to redesign destiny.  This was not to say that it was not unheard of, but its usage as such was rare and required the Allfather’s consent.  Moreover, for Asgardians, it was not always effective in staving off death.  But Steve was human…  Maybe…  “My father will not permit it.”

“Then make him see,” Jane implored.

“It is the law.  My father’s law.  Mortals cannot gain entrance into our realm, let alone partake in our customs.”

“Then change the law!” Jane said.  Her eyes were adamant.  He knew how strong and stubborn she could be.  “Steve saved your life.  He saved your brother’s life.  That has to mean something!”  Thor wished it did.  He grimaced and sighed in irritation.  Jane refused to accept his pessimism.  She lowered her tone and held his gaze firmly.  “He wielded the power of Thor.  That has to mean something.”

He looked into the deep brown of her twinkling eyes.  She had no doubts, even though she knew little of Asgard and nothing of his father.  She had absolute faith in him because she loved and trusted him.  And she was right.  In the horrors of the last hours, he had forgotten that Steve had lifted Mjölnir, impossibly heavy to everyone else Thor had ever met, and used it to save Loki.  He should have been amazed at that, and for a moment he had been, but everything had been so dark and difficult since then that he hadn’t digested it.  Steve had wielded Mjölnir.  Therefore, Steve was worthy.  Could that also mean…  Was it possible?

Thor focused on her, for his eyes had grown distant with thought and hope.  Then he nodded, and Jane did as well, a tentative smile claiming her pink lips.  “Okay,” she said, breathlessly, her eyes shining in excitement.  “Okay.”  Thor pivoted and rushed back into Steve’s room, yanking open the door, while Jane headed quickly back down the hallway calling for the way to be cleared.

Inside, the crestfallen Avengers looked up sharply at this sudden entrance.  “Help me,” he said, winded with renewed exhilaration.  “I must take him to Asgard.”

Tony moved away the window.  “About goddamn time,” he snapped, rushing to the bed.

Clint stood haltingly as the demigod crossed the room.  “You can save him?”

“I do not know,” Thor answered quickly, “but I must try.”  His eyes fell on Steve, his frozen hand and arm draped over his barely rising chest.  “Banner, we need–”

“Yeah,” Bruce answered, fishing through the drawers of a small cart alongside the wall.  He grabbed a bunch of bandages and dumped them on the bed.  “Let’s get this wrapped.  Carefully.”

They worked quickly to cover Steve’s hand, winding the bandages around the ice to protect both the limb and those around him.  Suddenly where there had been hours of futile waiting and waning hope, there was a driving need to move quickly.  Every moment had now become indispensable, precious and fleeting.  As he and Bruce worked, Tony detached Steve from the medical equipment.  Immediately the machines began to complain, but he was quick to silence them.  Natasha grabbed the blankets and pulled them aside so they had room to maneuver, and when they were finished, the Avengers stood alongside the bed.

“What are you doing?” yelled a doctor from the door.  The man was slack-jawed.  “Are you crazy?”

“Get out of the way,” Barton snarled, moving to the room’s entrance agilely despite his injuries.  He blocked them from coming in any farther.  The doctor sputtered in fury, trying to sidestep the archer and failing.  “Back off!”

“Can we wheel him out of here?” Tony asked.

“I shall carry him,” Thor answered.  “We simply need to get outside.”

Bruce nodded and said, “The exposure might kill him.  Your body heat might be enough to ward it off, but you have to keep him close and move fast.”

“Up gently.”  Thor slid one arm under Steve’s knees and the other beneath his shoulders.  Tony and Bruce worked to move him closer, touching him as long as they could bear given the icy state of his skin.  Natasha slipped beside Thor and draped a blanket over his arms.  “Ready?  Here we go.”  Thor lifted Steve as carefully as he could.  The weight might have not normally troubled him, but he was weary.  More than that, however, Steve was heavier because so much of him had been transformed to ice.  Thankfully, Tony was there to help him, steadying him and taking some of the burden himself while Thor pulled Steve into his arms.  Bruce and Natasha aided as well, shifting Steve’s limp arms and legs.  Once he was settled, Natasha placed another blanket over him.

“Steady?” Tony asked.  “Can you do this?”

The cold was crushing, piercing his armor to stab into his chest.  Where Steve’s skin touched his own, the contact was brutal.  The blanket did a bit to shield him, but even through that he could feel the chill.  But it was nothing he couldn’t and wouldn’t bear.  “Go,” he said to his companions.

“Wait!  Where are you going?”  The doctors floundered, the nurses watching wide-eyed and alarmed as the Avengers forced their way through the growing crowd.  One of the doctors, the one who seemed to be principally in charge of Steve’s care, attempted to bar their exit.  “He’ll die if you move him!  The director of SHIELD specifically ordered us to keep Captain Rogers here.  You can’t take him.  He’s under my authority.  Now just back away before I call security–”

“Seriously?” Tony said.  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, doc, but we’re the Avengers.  I don’t think you can stop us.”  The doctor blanched, glancing among Natasha, Clint, and Bruce, and then he nodded and moved aside.  “Thanks for giving us your permission,” Tony sarcastically added as they pushed out of the door.

Jane and Darcy were waiting for them.  Their odd group rushed down the hall, Thor flanked by Bruce and Natasha, Clint struggling to follow.  “There are reporters in the lobby and outside the main entrance, but Darcy talked one of the residents into letting us out the staff entrance.”

“There’s a flock of them out there,” Darcy said breathlessly.  “Might be good to distract them.”

“Stark,” Natasha said curtly, keeping the blanket over Steve’s severely shivering form as they ran.  “Make yourself useful.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks and rolled his eyes.  “Is that all I am to you guys?”  But even he couldn’t waste any more time with his typical antics, turning on his heel and racing toward the steps at the other end of the hall.  He burst through the door and disappeared.  Jane slapped her hand to the elevator button, summoning the lift, and they all stood impatiently, watching the lights above the sealed doors illuminate one at a time.

Finally it came.  The doors opened to reveal a group of doctors and nurses.  “Out,” Natasha barked, and the white-faced people were all too eager to comply.  She held open the door for them as they stepped inside, and after that she grabbed Clint’s arm and held him back.  At Barton’s questioning glance, she shook her head; he’d exerted himself too much trying to keep up.  She held Thor’s gaze firmly.  “Save him.”

The doors slid shut, and they were descending.  Nobody had the strength to speak, clinging to the hope that Thor _could_ save him.  Thor tried not to think, tried not to suffer with the cold.  Finally they reached the bottom floor and the doors parted.  A slew of SHIELD agents met them there.

“This is not authorized,” one of them declared.

“I’m authorizing it,” Bruce said.  “I’m his doctor and this is his only hope.”

“Doctor Banner, we need to contact Director Fury and get his permission.  You need a proper SHIELD escort with containment; we can’t allow the world to see this when we don’t know what we’re dealing with,” another SHIELD agent added.  Thor had met her before but couldn’t recall her name.  “If you want to transfer Captain Rogers, we can arrange that.”

“There’s no time!”  Bruce stepped closer to the agents, looking extremely irate.  They knew what he was, and they predictably retreated.  “My patience is kinda worn today.  I suggest you not do anything to try it further.”

Thor didn’t wait to see how the altercation continued, shouldering his way through the group with his burden.  Darcy jolted to his left and ran ahead, finding a wiry young man dressed in scrubs aside a desk.  He looked terrified, but he nodded as she spoke to him in hushed tones.  “Come on,” she said, and they were following the doctor through a maze of green hallways.  Finally they walked through a small living area filled with physicians who looked downright shocked to see the God of Thunder carrying Captain America and barging into their lounge.  They were outside a breath later.

Thor staggered a bit, Jane grabbing his elbow.  The sound of helicopters and a crowd of riled people was muted by the building behind them, but it was all too close for comfort.  And Steve tensed in agony.  Even though the day was warm, he suffered in the slight breeze. 

The sun was bright and the sky was empty.  Thor squinted as he looked up.  “Stay back,” he said to his companions.  He stretched out his left hand as best he could without sacrificing his grip on Steve and summoned Mjölnir.  It was silent for a breath, and then his hammer flew as fast as lightning to his hand.  The familiar weight in his palm was calming, and he closed his eyes.  He gathered all he could of his composure.  This was the first step of many he could not control.  Either this would avail them, or it would not.  He could not dictate the outcome.  He could only try and pray.  “Heimdall!” he shouted.  “Open the Bifrost!”

He waited.  But the sky remained still, and the day was undisturbed.  He looked over his shoulder to Jane and Darcy and caught his love’s eyes.  They shone in faith, and she nodded with all the encouragement she could muster.  Thor returned his gaze skyward.  “Heimdall!  Open the Bifrost!” he sternly commanded.  His loud voice echoed over the empty desert.

Still there was nothing.  He watched and waited until it was painful.  Thor lowered his eyes.  It was as he feared.  Heimdall followed the Allfather’s rules at all costs, and the rules could not be broken, not even for a future king.  The icy pain in his heart took his breath away.  He couldn’t stop this.  He looked down at Steve’s face, at the tense, pained look twisting his features, as the weak puffs of breaths from his lips.  Like the ghost of his spirit escaping his dying body in its final moments.  “Heimdall,” Thor whispered.  “I beg of you.  Help us.”

The sky exploded.  A shaft of light brighter than sun and filled with every color imaginable shot down and enveloped Thor and Steve.  Warmth and power flooded them, electrifying flesh and blood and hearts and minds.  Thunder roared as the light became blinding, as the ground shook and the air shifted and crackled with energy.

All he knew was relief.  Heimdall had heard him.

Then the light swept back up into the heavens and took them with it.


	6. Chapter 6

The Allfather was not who he had been.  Odin had never been overly loving, but he had once been as compassionate as he was wise.  Loki’s betrayal had struck him hard, harder perhaps than most realized.  After all, it had been Odin’s compassion that had saved his would-be son from death, that had spared the orphaned child of Laufey though the king of Jotunheim and his kind had been the sworn enemy of Asgard.  It had been his mercy and his decision to keep the truth hidden that had inevitably led to all of the heartache and suffering both Asgard and Midgard had endured.  It was not something anyone would forget, and it was not something Odin himself would forgive.  This mistake, so close to the end of his reign, had hardened his heart.

Thor feared his request would not be met with a favorable outcome.

Still, he was not daunted.  He could not be.  As the ancient machinery that powered the Bifrost slowed in its whirling, the golden gears coming to a gentle stop, he emerged from the portal.  Steve was still clenched in his arms, and the cold coming from his friend’s frigid body was growing more unbearable each second.  Heimdall stood on his dais, his hands still about the pommel of his sword, powerful and intimidating in his gold-plated armor.  His amber eyes saw everything there was to see in the universe, yet they focused on nothing, staring blankly towards Thor.  One could not hide from that gaze.  “You cannot bring him here,” Heimdall rumbled.

“If you truly thought that, you would not have allowed it,” Thor returned tersely, walking quickly from the entrance of the Bifrost and past Heimdall’s dais with long and desperate strides.  He felt Steve shivering against him, felt each strangled breath rattling out of his frozen chest, and quickened his pace.  The palace was still a journey from the other end of the rainbow bridge, and he was not certain he could both hold Steve and wield Mjölnir accurately enough to fly, but he would have to try.  Walking that great distance was not an option.  He held his hammer tighter, struggling to shift the bulk of Steve’s weight to his left hand and arm.  It was not so easy without the soldier’s help.

“It is not that he is not worthy.”  Heimdall’s words gave him pause, and he stopped at the place where the bridge that powered the Bifrost reached its terminal.  The glory of Asgard, steeped in a beautiful, starry night, glowed behind him, promising salvation.  The palace rose in the distance, tall, strong, and serene in the silence of the evening, its pearly towers bathed in an ethereal glow.  But he turned and looked at the realm’s ancient guardian, who knew more of the workings of fate than any.  He feared what the other would say.  There were countless reasons this was foolish, but the only reason it was right he could not stand to have questioned. 

 _Stand it.  Defend it.  You must.  You must champion this if he is to have a chance!_ “I cannot let him die.  I owe him that.”

“His destiny is not yours to change.  None of theirs can be changed,” Heimdall answered emptily.  “No matter how you wish it to be so.  You will lose yourself should you try.”

Thor knew what his old friend was trying to tell him.  It was not a criticism, nor was it said with any malice at heart, but he still felt the fool.  He turned his back to it, because acknowledging the truth of what he was and what they were and the deep differences between them was too painful.  Furious and seething, he gritted his teeth and swung Mjölnir faster and faster until lightning split the sky and he was flying.

As he feared, maintaining a steady course and his hold on Steve simultaneously was difficult to say the least.  He very rarely flew with passengers, though he was called upon during battle with the Avengers to transport his teammates where they needed to be in the blink of an eye.  Even then, they held tight to him.  Steve was a limp and unconscious burden that he could only anchor against himself as firmly as he dared as the wind whipped by them and the many lights of Asgard blurred beneath them.  Thankfully at the great speed they flew the time it took to reach the palace was but a minute.

He landed at the gates with a resounding thud.  The guards, dressed in shining plate mail and equipped with spears, startled at his sudden appearance.  “Send for the eir!” he ordered hoarsely, fighting to control his ragged breathing.  The miserable chill invading his flesh and bones finally beat down his endurance, and he stumbled to his knees with a pained groan.  A wince contorted his face, and it took all of his will to not drop Steve to the polished marble of the gateway.  “Hurry!  A litter!”

The guards looked confused and suspicious, but at Thor’s blazing, threatening glare they scattered to follow his orders.  He heard calls of alarm echo through the huge entryway.  He could only pay that his attention for a moment, however, before Steve arched before him again.  The captain gasped for air.  His left hand flailed and latched onto Thor’s knee.  The fingertips were white with frost, and the ice was rapidly spreading along his flesh higher up his arm on his bicep.  Thor’s heart sped and his throat tightened as the cold spread through his pants to torture his skin.  There wasn’t much time.

“Hold on, my friend,” implored Thor as he ripped his cloak from his shoulders and laid it over Steve’s suffering form.  Steve finally sucked in enough air to wail, and his left shoulder froze into ice that was as dark as the night around them.  The fingers of his left hand dug into Thor’s flesh viciously.  “ _Please._   Just a little longer.”

An eternity of agony and impatience seemed to pass before there was the thunder of many approaching feet.  “Thor?”  He looked up sharply and found Fandral and Volstagg among the soldiers who had come.  The blond warrior shook his head in concern and surprise.  “He still lives?”

“Not for much longer,” Thor returned angrily.  “Hurry!  We must get him inside!”

Fandral and Volstagg were the only two of the group to come to his aid.  It wasn’t without explanation.  A Midgardian had not come to Asgard in recent memory.  Most Asgardians looked upon mortals kindly, but this was much as one looked compassionately upon a weakling in need of protection.  Humans were inferior in mind, body, and spirit, blessed with neither great wisdom nor long life.  Humans were to be guarded, to be coddled.  Their wars were to be fought for them, their simple lives shielded from the vast powers of the universe.   That sort of mindset was warranted, after all.  Humans worshipped Asgardians as gods.

But Thor could no longer look upon humans that way.  They were not inferiors but equals.  They were not children but friends.  And if his own people would not help them …

His heart throbbed at the implications.

“He is fading quickly,” Fandral said breathlessly.  He shook his head, wanting to say more, and Thor knew the words poised upon his lips.

“He is not beyond aid,” he declared resolutely, and they did not dare dispute that no matter how the evidence pointed to the contrary.  “Inside!”  The two warriors knelt beside Steve, hooking their arms under his frozen body and helping Thor lift him.  They grimaced as the wretched cold touched them as well, but they didn’t let go, and they moved inside the palace.

They didn’t make it far.  “What is the meaning of this?”

Thor closed his eyes and stiffened.  He had known this confrontation was inevitable, but he had hoped beyond hope that he could have avoided it until after Steve had received the treatment he so desperately needed.  Ahead down the hall there was a scurry, and guards came bearing the litter.  But they came no closer when they saw their king, standing sternly in the center of the hall, his eye narrowed and focused solely upon his son.

The silence that followed was deep and unyielding.  Thor felt locked in the moment, wondering how it could be that after all these years, after long reaching his majority, after all the battles he had fought and after being named heir to the throne…  How could it be that he still felt so utterly daunted in the face of his father’s disapproval?

Steve didn’t have time for his weakness.  “He needs our help, Father,” Thor said firmly.

Odin, with all the might of millennia behind him, regarded his son.  He was withered and wearied, his beard and hair starkly white, his face wrinkled and lined, his form bending ever so slightly with the weight of ruling Asgard and all of the realms.   His one eye, the other lost in battle long ago, was filled with the wisdom of his long life, but lately Thor saw more pain and anger than joy and love.  Lately he seemed so much older, truly at the end of his time, clinging to the throne because he feared all that he had left unsettled.  It pained Thor greatly to see his father as such, and he knew he was at fault for a great deal of Odin’s disquiet.

Odin’s eye flicked to the suffering body in his son’s arms.  “He is mortal,” the king answered.  “The death of a mortal is not our concern.”

Thor’s temper frayed.  He was barely clinging to his composure.  He didn’t wish to fight with his father, but he certainly would if it would save Steve.  “It is when he gave his life in the defense of Asgard!”

His loud voice echoed against the tall pillars and vaulted ceiling.  Odin stood still, his eye fixated upon Thor.  Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of awkward tension had passed, he lowered his chin slightly.  “Take the human to the healing wing.  I would speak to my son alone.”

The soldiers carrying the litter swiftly walked closer and aided Fandral and Volstagg in moving Steve.  Thor settled the blankets and cloak around him, but for a moment the extent of his frozen flesh was revealed for all to see.  The guards looked dismayed, and Volstagg whispered a soft curse of anger.  Fandral shook his head at the extent of the damage.  But Odin remained still and unblinking, even as the group rushed by him and he saw the length to which this innocent Midgardian had suffered for the sake of Asgard.

Every ounce of Thor’s being demanded he follow Steve, Steve who was now alone among strangers while he suffered unto his death.  But his feet remained still as though his boots had adhered to the shining and unblemished floor.  He felt his father’s gaze upon him, sharp and unwavering.  More and more of late, that gaze felt only judgmental.  “Why have you brought him here, Thor?  Why have you defied our laws?”

Thor drew a deep breath.  Jane’s words, so full of confidence, filled the planes of his ragged thoughts.  _“Then make him see.”_   So much easier said than done.  “He had no hope on Midgard.  Their doctors could not save him.  This was his only chance,” Thor answered as strongly as he could.

“The poison has already consumed him,” returned Odin.

“Not his heart.”

“Even if it were not forbidden, there is nothing to be done for him.  A proper and merciful end to it would have been a swift sword to the chest.”

Thor’s eyes blazed.  He knew that, even though he’d been ardently trying to deny the truth ever since they’d pulled the ice from Steve’s chest in that diner back in New Mexico.  He’d seen it countless times, after all.  Death was inevitable, and delaying it only elongated the agony.  The righteous thing, the _honorable_ thing, was to have it come quickly.  “Were our roles reversed, he would exhaust every option to save my life.”

“They are not reversed, and he is a mortal.  He has no place here.”

“Do you know of whom you speak?” Thor snapped, trying to keep the rage and frustration from his tone.  It was not wise to raise his voice to his father.  “This _man_ whose life seems to hold no value to you is a hero among men.  He single-handedly prevented the Tesseract from falling into the hands of evil, and he worked closely with me to stop Loki’s war.  He is a symbol of bravery and nobility and compassion to his people.  He is a warrior of immeasurable strength, of the most steadfast virtue, of unending–”

“He is _mortal_ ,” Odin repeated in a tone that reminded Thor too much of being a small child shamefully standing in front of his parent after having done wrong.

“What does that matter?” Thor asked in exasperation.  “Does that mean his life is worth less than mine?”

“Yes,” Odin responded matter-of-factly as though surprised by such a foolish question.  “You are my son and the crown prince of Asgard.  You will one day become king and protector of the Nine Realms.  You are Thor.”

“And he wielded my hammer!” Thor returned.  “By your own words, that must make him worthy!”  That gave his father pause, and few things did.  Odin blinked and lost just a bit of his firm stature.  “He has saved my life so many times, Father…  He gave his life to defend your son.”

“He gave his life to defend Loki,” Odin corrected.  “Do not play me for a fool, Thor, and do not play my compassion for Loki against me.  You will find it sorely lacking.  Sif spoke to me of what occurred on Midgard.”  Venom crawled into Odin’s tone.  “I regret this man made so foolish a choice, but it is not our place to remedy the mistakes of humans.  If he is truly worthy, then he will find peace and glory in Valhalla and join the honorable fallen in their solemn task unto eternity.  If not, he will go to where mortals dwell in death.  But I cannot break our laws simply to allay your grief, no matter how you wish it.  Nothing changes the unfortunate truth that he forfeited his life to spare that of a traitor and criminal.”

“He sacrificed his life to save my brother!” Thor said.  “Loki is still that to me even if he is not to you!”

“Loki is nothing!  Not anymore,” Odin yelled harshly.  “He has spilled the blood of Asgard and committed open treason against the throne.  He has used innocent lives as a weapon in war.  He will face our justice, true justice, for the warriors he and his brethren killed today.”  Thor flinched inwardly.  Never before had Odin referred to the Jotuns as Loki’s family.  “Your mother’s compassion pierced my resolve and stayed my hand before, but not this time.  This time I _will_ see him put to death.”  Odin eyed him malignantly, as though challenging him to defy him.  “Do you argue for Loki’s life or for this Midgardian’s?  It would seem you cannot have both.”

Thor could hardly stand the pain.  “That is not fair.”

“My son, you must learn that life never is.  We are the instruments of justice, of power, of protection in this universe.  Our choices are the most difficult.”

That was a crutch, a pathetic rationalization of selecting the easy course, of maintaining detachment.  “Father…”  His voice failed him.  There was nothing more to say; Odin would not be convinced of the merits of what Steve had done.  He likely could not be convinced of Steve’s worth, even if Steve had lifted Mjölnir and fought with it.  But Thor was not above begging, no matter the damage to his pride.  “Please.  I realize this is forbidden, and I do realize that I speak out of grief–”

“The loss of one man should not weigh so upon your heart,” Odin chastised.  It was without heat but damning all the same.

Thor gritted his teeth against his temper.  “I would not ask if there was another choice.  But there is none.”  He felt sick hearing himself plead so openly.  He didn’t think his father would appreciate this vulnerability, this weakness, but he couldn’t stop himself.  “He is my friend, a brother in arms, a spirit kindred to my own.”

“They can never be as you are,” Odin said in frustration.  His eye flashed and he stepped closer, as though his nearness could drive some sense into his son.  “Your love for these mortals, for the woman Jane Foster, blinds you.  You are _my_ son.  They can _never_ be as you are, as you will always be, and if you lower yourself to live among them, you will lose everything.”

“Steven has already lost everything!  Allow him but a sip of Idunn’s nectar…”

Odin’s expression softened.  “It will not save him.”

“He is not a simple Midgardian.  There is magic in his blood that bestows upon him great strength and vitality.  Perhaps there is a chance–”

Odin raised his hand, silencing Thor’s words.  He stood stiffly, watching his father expectantly, his heart thundering and his breath caught in his throat.  Truth be told, as he stood there waiting, he realized he would not accept his father’s disapproval.  He would not stand for dismissal or rejection.  He would not remain idle and helpless while Steve died.  He would brave Odin’s wrath and punishment, whatever it was, to see Steve saved.  He would steal and kill, commit treason against his very kin and his own country, if necessary.  Perhaps the consequences would be banishment again, or perhaps even worse, but a life spent with his guilt seemed a far harsher penalty.

And exile had brought him Jane.

However, such a drastic act would not be necessary.  Odin was not so cruel.  The taut glare of his face loosened even further, and he spoke with a quieter tone.  It was not that of a king to a disobedient prince.  It was a father speaking to a torn and anguished son.  “See to him,” he ordered.  “I will seek an apple of Idunn on his behalf.  I cannot promise she will listen, but for you I will try.”

Thor’s relief was so immense and powerful that he couldn’t entirely process it.  He wavered slightly and tried to hide how very fearful he had been of a different answer.  “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice suddenly hoarse and weak with emotion.  “Thank you.”  Excitement pulsed through him, driving him as he rushed by his father.  Suddenly there was hope.  It was a fool’s chance that Steve could be saved, but any chance was worth taking.

“Thor.”  Odin’s low call stopped Thor dead in his tracks.  The king shifted to look upon his son, though Thor remained still in fear and worry over what his father would say.  “Do not forget who you are.  Your place is here.  His is not.  Neither is hers.  I know what it is you hope, and it is impossible.”  Thor closed his eyes against the pain stabbing into his heart.  Was it not enough that he had been forced to witness Steve suffer as he had?  Was it not enough that he had nearly lost the only woman he would ever love?  Was it not enough that he had withstood Loki’s betrayal _again_?  Must he be continuously reminded of the futility of mortal life?  Must he hear his family degrade and cast aside the lives of his friends for whom he had come to care so deeply?

“Look at me.”  Odin’s command could not be ignored, and Thor ground his teeth together and pivoted.  He tried to meet his father’s gaze with as much respect as he could muster.  With as much courage.  “Should he live, you will take him immediately from this place and return him to his own.  Should he die, you will burn his body and speak naught of this again.  Do not make a habit of entangling their lives with your own.”

Thor knew he needed to look his father in the eye and acknowledge his words.  He _knew_ he needed to.  But he also knew anything he said in agreement was a lie.  “Yes, Father.”

He turned and stalked away as briskly as he could to get to Steve’s side.  In the wild rage of his heart, he was certain that his father couldn’t make him choose.  His decision had been made the instant he had opened his eyes on the desert ground in New Mexico and looked upon Jane and fallen in love.

* * *

He should not have been surprised to find Frigga directing the healers gathered around Steve’s pallet.  “Mother,” he said in relief.  The ancient and beautiful queen of Asgard turned at her son’s call.  Her abundant brown hair was piled atop her head in an elegant design, dotted with jewels that glimmered in the light of the sconces and candles littered about the room.  She wore a shining lavender gown that swished as she turned and walked quickly to him.  He was well beyond the age to be running to his mother for comfort, but in the face of all that had happened, he craved nothing quite so much.  He was not Thor of Asgard, God of Thunder, warrior and Avenger and hero.  He was a son seeking a balm for his torn and aching heart.

Frigga swept him in her arms, even though he stood taller than her.  He dipped his head to her shoulder.  She smelled of home, of childhood, of simpler times.  Her fingers carded through his hair as she held him tightly for a moment.  “Mother, Loki…”

“I know,” she said softly.  She pulled away and cupped his face tenderly.  “Your father suffers such a grievous torment.  He wishes Loki dead, but even now he can only imprison him.  I do not know how long his mercy will last him.”

“There is mercy still,” Thor said.  He pulled away from his mother and headed to Steve’s side.  Steve was still wrapped in Thor’s cloak, though the healers were attempting to pull that and the blankets aside to gauge how ill he was.  He was shivering violently and uncontrollably, gasping and moaning as the cool night air flowed inside through the open balcony on the other side of the room and struck what remained of his skin.

The leader of the eir, a pale Asgardian with wavy brown hair and a serious face, turned to Thor.  “He cannot be saved,” she declared.  She was an expert in the medical arts, and her word could not be doubted or questioned.  “The wound is fatal.”

Thor was frankly quite tired of repeating himself.  “The king brings the nectar of Idunn,” he said.  That was not a certainty, but he tried with all his might to make it seem as though it was.  Idunn was a fickle being, and she answered to no one save Odin.  But even the Allfather could not demand she gift a golden apple to one that was unworthy of such a mighty prize.

However, the eir oversaw the healing arts; if they did not lend their aid, this would be that much more difficult.  And Steve might not survive to have the chance to drink the nectar.  “We must prolong his life until the king arrives.”

“He is human,” the eir responded coolly.  “There is little we can do.”

Thor’s eyes flashed as he took Steve into his embrace and used his own body heat to warm the soldier.  He stared menacingly at the eir.  “ _Try_.”

She balked slightly, but her angry expression quickly faded to serenity once more.  She nodded and bowed.  “Yes, my lord.”  She left them, ordering her subordinates to acquire the materials they would need to warm the pallet.

Steve moaned against Thor’s chest.  “I have you, my friend,” soothed Thor.  His skin was almost entirely covered in frost now, and the solid ice, dark with the night, was spreading.  “It will be over soon.”   _One way or another, it will.  I swear it._

Frigga stepped closer.  The silence that followed was filled with Steve’s harsh panting and the quiet crackling of the flames upon their wicks.  Steve’s labored heartbeat seemed audible in the emptiness as it feebly struggled against the encroaching ice.  Thor felt every single pulse as he pushed his hand beneath his cloak and the blankets and laid it over Steve’s chest. The flesh there was warm, but only just so.  He closed his eyes and held his friend as tightly as he could.

“Thor.”  He turned and found his mother watching him.  Her dark eyes were weary and troubled in the flickering golden light.  She was warm, the only warmth in the world right then.  She smiled sadly.  “You have learned much from your time on earth,” she said.  “You have learned selflessness and kindness far beyond what we have taught you.”

“Humanity is full of evil,” Thor said, flashes of all the dark and ambitious men against whom the Avengers had fought racing through his mind.  Captain America and Iron Man and Black Widow and the Hulk and Hawkeye…  They routinely faced the worst their world had to offer.  “But it is also full of courage and strength and good.  Mortals know the torments of pain and chaos and death far more than we do, and they handle it because they must.  They fight because they must.  There is great worth in that.”  He looked down at Steve, who had calmed with Thor’s warmth and nearness.  “I cannot in good conscience let that be destroyed as though it were nothing.”

If Steve died, he was uncertain what would become of the Avengers.  And without the Avengers, earth was in danger.  The thought was terrifying.

“Your father sent for you to protect you.”

“And who would have protected them had I run like a coward?”  He felt tears sting his eyes.  “I could not let Jane be used against me like a pawn in Loki’s latest game!  I could not let that happen to her.”

“I have seen the anger and arrogance in you tempered by what you feel for her,” Frigga said.  “She fills your heart with longing when you are here, and you gaze across the stars every night with such wistful yearning in your eyes that I ache for you.  You are torn between our world and theirs.”  She shook her head.  “I would not see the war within you destroy you.”

“I love her.”  Every time he said it, he felt surer of it, more driven to _prove_ it in the face of so much opposition.  Frigga had often complained in his youth of his stubbornness.  “And I love him as if he is my own brother.”

Frigga was not pleased by his answer, though not because she disliked Thor lowering and disgracing himself so as to involve himself with the lesser kinds.  “There is a reason we do not love mortals,” she reminded softly.  “There is a reason for the laws and principles that you now denounce.  There is a reason for your father’s anger.  He fears for you.  Thor, there is only pain for you in this.  This woman to whom you have given your heart will wither and die before your eyes, and you will only be able to watch, your helplessness torturing you like nothing else ever has or ever will.  She will be gone in little more than a whisper of time, time that may be sweet for its pleasures and comfortable for its peace, but it is fleeting.  And when she fades, she will take with her what you gave.  You would spend the rest of your life alone and lost.  You would not be the first of our world to suffer such a thing.  We do not want that to befall you.”

“I can make my own choices,” he reminded.  “And I can give my heart and my life to whomever I choose.”

“Can you?” she asked.  She did not argue that point further, though it was certainly debatable.  As the crown prince, Thor was bound by his duties to the realm.  But what they were discussing went beyond obligations and legacies.  Her hand fell to his shoulder.  “Be certain this is what you want.  The loss of those we love is a cruel punishment.”

“As is regret,” Thor answered.

Her sad smile returned.  She shook her head slightly.  “I have never known you capable of such patience and wisdom.”

“As you said, I have learned much in my time on earth.”  _So much.  And Steve has been so much a part of that._   He looked down upon his friend again, his friend who no longer shivered, his friend who barely breathed.  Whose heart now barely beat.  The skin underneath Thor’s palm was icy.

The eir and her healers returned with a burst of activity.  They moved with controlled haste, carrying many clear blocks that they set about Steve’s pallet.  Thor reluctantly released Steve’s now still form, stepping back mindlessly as he watched the eir work.  Steve’s breath was a charged jet of icy vapor from blue lips.  Then he writhed anew, and the ice crept up his neck.  The eir worked quickly to enchant the blocks, and they came to life with a white glow.  Powerful heat immediately filled the room.

Frigga neared the dying human.  “He is in great pain,” she announced worriedly.

“I have prepared an elixir, though any relief it may provide will be transient at best,” the eir explained.  She held a flask close to her flowing gray robe.  “I cannot predict how it will interact with his human physiology.”

“That is a chance we must take.  We cannot allow this man to suffer,” Frigga answered.

“This situation is an unknown to us.  This poison has never afflicted one so slowly,” the eir countered.  “I can make no guarantees, my queen.”

Frigga nodded.  “So be it.”

There was a great ruckus in the hall beyond.  Thor ripped around at the sound of many boots pounding against the marble floor.  A breath later Hogun was at the door, his face taut and bathed in a glistening sheen of perspiration.  He was flanked by a retinue of Asgardian warriors.  “Thor!” he called.  “You must come right away!  Loki has escaped!”

Thor’s heart shuddered in rage and grief and absolute frustration.  “How?” he snapped furiously.

Hogun shook his head.  “He feigned that he was wounded, battered, and defeated, and the guards took pity upon him.  They were slain.  He is desperate, careless.  He will not have gotten far.”

Loki’s trickery knew no bounds.  He wondered if Stark was not right to be infuriated by the seeming lack of anticipation of Loki’s power.  That was perhaps his brother’s most damning trait.  He was charming, and he used the illusion of weakness to its fullest potential.  He could not be allowed to escape.  He could not!

Steve screamed, struggling against the hands of the healers as they held him firm.  Thor felt every muscle in his body tighten in misery.  The two sons of Odin had been contrasted so often in their youth.  Dark mischief and golden splendor.  Brain and brawn.  But Thor was no dullard and Loki was no weakling.  Clearly there was no one on Asgard equipped to deal with Loki’s lies, manipulations, and cunning.  No one aside from him. 

And Odin.  But if Odin came upon Loki first… Thor was utterly certain the Allfather would kill him.

Frigga turned stern eyes to him.  She had obviously come to same chilling realization.  “Go,” she ordered.

He had no choice.  There was _no_ choice.  Again and again, the sad absolutes of this horrible situation.  Steve had given his life for Loki, and right or wrong, Thor was not about to let that be ruined by bloodlust, by a need for vengeance.  He turned to the door, but then a fleeting thought shot across his mind.  _Steve._   He reached inside his tunic below his armor and felt the edges of the envelope from Peggy.  He pulled it free and turned back to his mother.  “Should he awaken…  Should he ask you to read this to him…” He offered the weathered envelope to her.  His mother looked from it to him, seeing the pain in his eyes.  She took the envelope.  She did not need to understand what she now held to appreciate how important it was.

“I will take care of him,” she swore.  “Go.”

Thor raised his hand and summoned Mjölnir and raced away, praying with all his heart he was fast enough and smart enough to find Loki before his father did.


	7. Chapter 7

The world was ending.

Steve grabbed the flight controls and pulled back, but they weren’t responding.  The _Valkyrie_ was probably damaged somewhere, and there was no way he could reach it or fix it.  He winced, bruised and beaten from his fight with Schmidt, as he looked at the dials spread across the control board.  Altitude was steady enough.  Speed damn near blinding, racing across the sky to deliver a payload of death and destruction to New York City and countless other civilian targets.  To destroy the Allies in one fell swoop with all the fury and evil of HYDRA behind it.  He tried to power the plane down, but nothing worked.  He tried to change its course, but _nothing worked._ Wind rushed inside the cockpit through the holes in the windshield, ripping through his hair and tearing tears from the corners of his eyes.  There were clouds all around him, clouds that were pearly and golden and beautiful with the light of the dying day.  Below the ocean was vast and deep, deep blue.  Serene.  Peaceful, were it not for the _Valkyrie_ and its bloodlust screaming across the sky.

The world was ending, but maybe he could stop it.  He had to try.  _He had to._

He had been made for this, after all, to take the hits and fight the bullies and make the right and just decisions.  To make sacrifices, no matter how much it hurt.

And it hurt.  God, did it hurt.

“I gotta put her in the water,” he called to Peggy, though she was thousands of miles away from him now.  _It’s the only way.  It’s the only way._   He needed her to believe that so that there was a chance he could as well.  He needed her to be strong for them both.

The radio crackled and his heart thundered in terror that maybe he’d lost her signal, but her voice came, tense with pain and fear that made his heart ache.  “Steve, please don’t do this.  We have time.  We can work it out.”  Quick words, desperate words, and he wanted so badly to succumb to the hope that she was right.  That they had time to fix this, to find a way to stop this plane and the evil men who’d built it from waging war upon the innocent and the defenseless.

But there was no time.  Only a few minutes from now the _Valkyrie_ would be too close to the United States to stop it.  He was over the ocean and in the clouds.  If he didn’t bring it down now…  He couldn’t take that risk.  Not for himself.  “Peggy,” he said, his voice rough with the pain he was struggling to hold inside him.  “This is my choice.”

He only wished his choice wouldn’t hurt her so much.

Steve imagined her face then.  Pale and beautiful, red, full lips pulled taut in that disapproving frown she wore in the face of anything she found less than tip-top.  Those gorgeous eyes dark with grief and anger and helplessness and filled with tears.  He’d never seen her cry.  He didn’t want to remember her like that, so he dug inside his uniform and found his compass and opened it.

Her beautiful face.  Calm and commanding, every line perfect, every hair in place and every bit of her radiating how smart and capable and strong she was.  Eyes so deep and that tiny grin that she had, that cunning little twist of her lips.  That soft smile she wore just for him.  He might have been helpless with women, clumsy and unwanted and naïve, but he wasn’t with her.  He knew her.  He had since the moment he’d seen her.  And she knew him because she had cared to learn.  She saw beyond the sick kid from Brooklyn with no money or family to his name.  And she saw beyond the serum and Project: Rebirth and all the weight placed upon his shoulders.  She knew the man that was beneath Captain America, the truth behind the mask and the shield.  He was the symbol of hope to a war-torn world.  But she was everything he wanted.  That knowing smile and those stunning eyes.

That was the picture of her that he wanted to die with.

He found the strength and courage then to do what he had to.

Pushing the flight controls forward, the plane’s nose dipped with a groan that shook its broken body.  The clouds were racing up to embrace him now, wisps of white and yellow that disappeared as he sliced through them.  There was ocean and land, a great sheet of ice as far as he could see, and he was diving toward it.

“Peggy.”

“I’m here,” came her quiet response.

His eyes stung.  “I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

There was no answer for a moment, save for the howling of the wind and the shaking of the plane and the thundering of his heart.  He could hear her gasp a sob, a sob that she bravely refused to release.  “Alright.  A week next Saturday at the Stork Club.”

“You got it,” he swore.

“Eight o’clock on the dot.  Don’t you dare be late.  Understood?”

His first date.  His first chance to truly love her, not from a distance or tucked behind military decorum or hampered by his own fears of ruining it.  Everything that could have been tethered to something that would never be.  The enormity of that was too much to take, not with the icy wasteland growing larger and larger before his eyes.  The seconds were flying away.  “You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

This time she did sob.  But she gathered herself.  She always did.  “I’ll show you how.  Just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow.”  There was only white now, vast and vicious and stretching before him.  This was it.  He let go of the flight controls and grabbed the arms of the chair as it rattled beneath him.  He closed his eyes and imagined Peggy soft and sweet in his arms and music filled his mind.  His bruised lips curled in a sheepish, amused grin.  “I’d hate to step on your–”

The ice rushed up to meet him, slamming through the cockpit, crushing him as the plane crumpled in its impact with the ground.  The wail of bending and breaking metal and shattering ice and exploding air deafened him.  There was pain unlike anything he’d experienced before.  He struggled because it was his nature to fight even when all odds were against him.  He struggled to move, to swim and escape, to overcome the darkness and the agony and the water rushing inside the remains of the _Valkyrie_.  Blood filled his throat and then his mouth, and the last bit of light faded as the ocean consumed him.  Everything was bleeding and shivering and drowning.  There was water and coldness, so much coldness, and he couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t…

He was falling.

Sinking into the water and snow and ice. 

Falling and freezing and dying.

* * *

The ice receded.  Steve gasped, his eyes opening, and then gave a ragged howl at the pain knifing through his body.  His lungs heaved and seized, desperate for air, but there was none to be had.  Panic left him reeling and struggling mindlessly against iron restraints.  He needed to breathe!  But every breath his frozen chest managed to draw he wasted in a scream he couldn’t keep inside him.  Where was he?  _When_ was he?  What had happened?  The memory held him fast, trapped in those horrific last moments of the plane crashing and the world turning black with death and cold with ice.  _Peggy, please…  Somebody help me!_

“Rest,” implored a soft and gentle voice.  The iron restraints were not restraints at all but hands holding him to a soft bed.  Steve fought against the encroaching blackness, trying to focus his eyes but everything remained a stubborn blur of golden light.  Memory and nightmare meshed, and he couldn’t think clearly.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had.  A jumble of dream and reality, of disorientation, trapped him in a frigid fog.  The battle.  The plane.  Crashing.  Loki and the giants.  Loki.  The feel of the hammer in his hand, thrumming with heat and power.  The ice in his chest.  Tony and Bruce.  Peggy.  Thor.  _Thor._

This was torture.  He choked, _feeling_ the horrid ice inside him with every ounce of his being.  His hand.  It was just… _gone_.  He _knew_ it was still there, pressed against his chest like a frozen weight, but he couldn’t move it.  It was taken from him by the cold, as was his leg and his arm…  The ice was consuming him a piece at a time.  He cried weakly against the chills wracking his body.  He didn’t even have the strength to shiver anymore, but he kept doing it because he couldn’t stop and he couldn’t rest.  He couldn’t _stop fighting_.  This was who he was, who the serum had made him into.  Captain America never stopped.

But there was so much agony, so much fear.  That world of white and blue loomed before him, promising him a fate worse than death, a fate he had somehow escaped once.  That world of ice and shadow was waiting for him, and he was falling into it.  It wouldn’t let him go this time.

He’d wanted to die, and Thor hadn’t let him.  He still wanted to die.  For once in his life, he just wanted to throw in the damn towel and give up and admit he was licked.

_No._

It took a great deal of effort to make his lips and tongue work.  “Where…”

The blurry image above him slowly took shape.  It was an older woman, a beautiful woman, with auburn hair and kind but serious brown eyes.  “Be still,” she said.  Her hand was gloriously warm as it pressed to his cheek.  Steve breathed raggedly through his nose and fought to stay conscious, horrified of the hellish nightmares that awaited him in the darkness.  She seemed to sense his panicked dread, taking his good hand in her own.  Her skin was golden and ageless against his frozen and frost-covered fingers.  “You are on Asgard.  Thor has brought you here to be healed.  We will try to help you, but you must save your strength.”

None of that made any sense to his damaged and addled mind.  Steve choked on his breath.  His body was wracked anew with violent chills and against his will he trembled until his bones ached.  His senses were chaotic, wildly bombarding his mind with scraps of things.  He couldn’t process the flood, overwhelmed and lost to the anarchy.  Pain here and cold there.  Nothing where there was once sensation and strength and movement and life.  This was hell, but not the hell he’d been taught by the nuns in the orphanage or by the priests at church every Sunday back in the 40’s.  This was an icy prison of unending torment.  He couldn’t stand against the avalanche tearing him apart and driving him down.  Trapping him in a wintry tomb.

He needed to die.  _Peggy, will you wait for me?_

_“Eight o’clock sharp.  Don’t you dare be late.”_

“Drink this.”

A cup tipped to his lips and something that tasted utterly foul spilled into his mouth.  He didn’t want to swallow it, but his throat was slack and it went down all the same.  Steve moaned and gasped and closed his eyes.  “It will ease your pain,” somebody promised, “and clear your mind so that you might rest.”  Lies, he figured.  The plane was sinking into the icy caverns of the ocean deep, and he was going down with it.  It was what he deserved.  He should never have escaped the first time.  Bucky had fallen, too, fallen down into the snow.  Steve had let him go.

Words then.  A rushed conversation that he heard but made no effort to parse and understand.  Everything sounded distant and stretched and not entirely real.  Maybe none of this was.

“My queen!  My queen!  You must come!  Loki and Thor have battled…”

“Where?”

“Outside the palace.  Loki is injured badly.  He will not survive long!  Come quickly!”

“How could this have happened?  Show me!  _Hurry!_ ”

Footsteps running away.  The warmth was gone.  Steve lost consciousness.

* * *

He came to with a start.  He wasn’t alone.

Steve struggled out of the darkness with a sharp intake of breath.  He shivered and shuddered and let loose a strangled cry.  And then a hand fell firmly over his mouth, pressing hard.  “I must insist you not speak.”  That voice.  He knew who it was even before his eyes focused and before he thought to struggle.  Feebly he tried to move, but his body was frozen and lifeless.  All he could do was stare fearfully into Loki’s sharp green eyes.

They glittered madly in the light, light that had been dimmed.  Loki pushed harder against him, nearly suffocating him, and the weight across his suffering body was torturous.  Steve moaned again, desperate to breathe, wracked with terror and the burning pain of the ice.  “I could hear your pathetic keening throughout the palace.  I would be most obliged if you would be silent so that we could have a little chat.  Can you do that, Captain?”

Steve’s mind was so overthrown that somehow it seemed the right course to actually submit and nod.  Loki smiled, pleased with that, and let him go.  The ailing soldier raggedly inhaled, fighting to make his lungs function amidst the ice devouring him.  It wasn’t enough to feed what remained of his muscles and organs.  He tried to override the press of sleep again, but he couldn’t.  He drifted on waves of agony and blackness for what seemed to be forever, the shadows spinning about him.  When he finally managed to regain his senses and focus, he saw the room was abandoned.  Empty, aside from Loki.  The God of Mischief had taken up a lazy, relaxed position near a dark wood table, his hip braced against the side.  He looked worn and unkempt, his battle armor gone and his shirt and pants rumpled and ripped.  His black hair was mussed and blood covered a split lip and bruises marred his brow.  Steve had only known Loki as an enemy, calm in his evil plotting, but now he looked… _disturbed_ , as though he’d come to question himself badly enough as to rock and tip the foundation of who he was.  And he was making an admirable but inadequate effort at hiding it.

Steve blinked the blurriness from his eyes, struggling to make sense of this craziness.  Everything was so jumbled and mixed up that he couldn’t fathom why Loki was here, with him…  Loki, bruised and beaten in the snow.  Loki, cowering before the wrath of the Frost Giants looming over him.  Loki, reduced to a shivering mess, their nemesis, the violent, ambitious maniac who had nearly destroyed New York and taken over their world and murdered them all…  At that moment, he’d just been a person, afraid of dying.  He’d been the little guy, surrounded by bullies.  Not Loki at all.  Thor’s brother.

Steve could hardly stand the pain, but it wasn’t just the ice.  It was everything.

A ridiculous smile split Loki’s pale face.  Steve shivered, unable to move, unable to do a damn thing, as Loki read his letter.  Peggy’s letter.  The envelope was open on the floor, ripped and discarded.  The yellowed paper the god held in his hand, faded black ink scrawled in beautiful penmanship across the page.  Loki chuckled and lifted his eyes from the letter to look upon Steve.  “This is good.  Really.”  He read and Steve watched, furious and bound tighter by the ice and pain than ropes or chains could ever muster.  Loki finally finished and set the letter to the desk and looked at his captive.  “She truly fancied you.  Even before you donned the mask and the shield and the… muscles.  So sad.  Unfulfilled love.  A good life together denied.  A... What is it you people call it?  A _date_ that never was.”  He smiled as Steve writhed and shivered through the degradation.  “True love broken.  Such sweet melodrama.  I had no idea so much drivel laid under all that patriotic posturing.”

Rage burst through him, but even that wasn’t hot enough to melt the ice.  He wanted to yell, to stand and scream and do _something_ , but he couldn’t move.  There wasn’t enough of him left to fight.  And his throat was nearly frozen shut.  “You look angry, Captain,” Loki said with mock sympathy.  “Does it hurt?  Which is worse, I wonder…  The pain of having your flesh and blood turn to ice all around you or the pain of knowing not once but twice you will die leaving all those who love you behind to live their lives without you?”

He could hardly draw the breath he needed to speak, but he did so anyway.  He wasn’t going to spend the final moments of his life being put down by this bastard. “What – what do you want from me?” he gasped harshly.  The more awake he became, the harsher the hurt clawed at him.  But he wouldn’t submit.  Not to the ice driving spikes into his chest and taking his body from him.  And not to Loki.  The anger was hot and powerful, and he clung to it because there wasn’t anything else.  “You want to gloat?  You think – think I care what you think?  Go – go to hell.”

Loki feigned insult, placating him with a false show of damaged pride.  “Now, Captain.  I hardly think gloating serves either of us right now.  Nor does pretending that you and I have nothing to talk about.”  He sighed and leaned back into the table.  “Frigga’s emotions were easy to play against her.  But she will no doubt discover my illusions as false; after all, she was the one who taught me how to deceive.  Or was that Odin?  He who for centuries called himself my father whilst lying through his teeth every time?”  Loki’s eyes flashed and his jaw hardened slightly as he pushed himself languidly from the table and clasped his hands before him.  “Thor surely told you; he keeps nothing secret.  Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t matter.  There’s no time for formalities or theatrics or anything of the like.  They are coming for me, and I would much rather be on my way than wasting my precious time with you.  I don’t intend to be captured again.  Something tells me Odin won’t spare me from his famous wrath this time.”

Steve couldn’t believe this.  Loki had somehow fooled his captors _again_ , and he was flittering away his chance of escape to _talk_ with him?  This wasn’t right.  This was some sort of trick.  “Get away from me,” he gasped in mounting dread.  He tried to move, pushing his one good leg against the pallet with as much force as he could muster.  His knee had turned to ice, and the joint wouldn’t bend at all.  Frustrated tears filled his eyes.  “Should’ve – should’ve let you die!”

“To the point of it then,” Loki said, standing a few feet from the pallet.  He looked tranquil, but there was emotion bubbling beneath those infuriatingly placid green eyes.  There was a storm twisting and spinning and threatening.  “Why didn’t you?”

Steve kept trying to squirm away, but there was no way he could move and there was no place he could go.  “I should have,” he snarled with as much venom as he could muster given his chattering teeth and raspy voice.

Loki was before him in a flash, leaning over him with a bright, violent glare.  There was anger and hatred and fear in his face.  But there was pain more than anything else.  “Why didn’t you?”  The god was a baleful shadow looming over him.  “Why?  Was it because of some misguided sense of integrity and nobility?  That nonsense you think you symbolize to your people drove you like a fool on some quest for perfection, for martyrdom.  Did you think you would transcend yourself if you offered up your life to your enemy?  That you would gain the eternal admiration of your kind like some sort of saint?”

The words were becoming faster and faster.  The world was collapsing, pulling tighter and tighter around the two of them.  Steve wanted to close his eyes, but somehow he could only shiver and suffer through the tempest.  He could feel Loki’s hot, sweet breath charging against his cheek.  A dark aura radiated from the god as though it was a palpable force slamming against his damaged body.

Loki took his silence as a denial.  “If not that, then for what?  For her?  She is dead, gone from you and the desperation of your broken heart made you yearn for your own death.  Life holds no meaning for you without her in it.  How trite,” he spat in disgust.  “How completely and _pathetically_ trite.”

“N-no.  No!”

“To erase your own sins?  To ease your own guilt?  Or perhaps it is not that you desire accolades.  Perhaps you think so lowly of yourself that you would willingly submit yourself to this.”  Steve shook his head frantically, although it was as much in response to Loki’s pounding questions as it was against the crushing nearness.  “Then _why?_   Why lay down your life for mine?”

Steve curled his good hand into Thor’s cloak as tightly as he could.  The ice cracked.  “Why do you care?”

The question seemed to take Loki back a moment because the hard expression claiming his white and marred face slackened ever so slightly.  But the pain was quick to bring back his ire, and his ire was becoming more and more frightening and unrestrained by the second.  “Answer my question, you insipid fool.  You’ve no reason to lie, not with death creeping about your gaze and the ice spreading to your heart.  You’ve given me everything else; give me the truth!”  Then it came to it, the core of the matter.  “Was it for Thor?”  Steve grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain he felt building.  Loki was unhinged with rage, grabbing his shoulders even though the cold must have hurt him and screaming, “Was it for Thor?”

“Thor loves you!  He still – he loves you.”

“Then he’s a bigger fool than you are,” hissed Loki.  But there was more to it than that.  A hint of something deep and dark shone in Loki’s eyes.  It glistened wetly.  Like tears.  But it was gone in a blink.  “My brother and his blinding sense of devotion.  He should have killed me when he had the chance.  It sickens me.  _You_ sicken me.”

Steve said nothing to that.  There was nothing to say, really.  He didn’t know what Loki wanted to hear, and he was too tortured to care.  “No one… no one’s beyond redemption.”  Loki’s eyes narrowed.  “Not even you.”

He outright laughed at that.  “You have deluded yourself with these righteous fantasies,” he snarled.  “Is that it?  You let yourself be killed to show me that I can change, to teach me the worth in sacrifice.  In seeking absolution.”  His voice dripped in a mockery of appreciation.  He stared into Steve’s eyes, unwavering and unyielding and very obviously _desperate_ for something to ease his conscience.  He didn’t deserve to feel better about anything.  “If that is your reason, then you should die and suffer _every moment_ of it for your stupidity.  I hope it is excruciating.”

Steve gasped weakly, and he swallowed the scream building in his throat. “You son of a bitch…  Leave me alone!”

But Loki wouldn’t.  Like some shadowy, sadistic tormentor he pressed on, even though it was killing them both.  “You and Thor are far more alike than he and I ever could be.  Your love of honor and dignity and justice.  You are slaves to it.  Naïve, mindless tools for the greater good.”  He was repulsed, furiously so, and Steve saw how very deep the jealousy went.  How very much he felt betrayed.  “Once he was arrogant and brash and bound to his own desires.  And once he wanted nothing more to be king.  Then he fell in love with that simpering woman and befriended you and the rest of your Avengers.  Odin veritably throws the throne at him, and I am starting to believe that he does not even want it.”  There was so much bitterness in the way Loki spoke.  Bitterness and envy.  “In the short time he has known you, you have somehow become more of a brother to him than I _ever was_.”

That perhaps should have been a comfort, and on some distant level it was, but Steve was too lost in anguish to feel anything but pain and fear.  Loki rounded on him.  “If you did this for Thor…”

“No–”

_“Then why?”_

The question echoed through the empty room, loud and rough and beset with madness.  It hung on the still night air, demanding its due.  It couldn’t be ignored or placated or brushed aside.  It was there before them, and time stood still as if waiting to hear the answer.

The answer.  Honestly, Steve didn’t know it.  He went back to that moment, that moment where he saw Loki cowering in the snow and Thor’s hammer beside him.  That moment where he’d made the decision to leave himself vulnerable in order to save someone that, by all rights, was not worth saving.  He didn’t really think Loki could or would change.  He doubted this moment would mark reconciliation between Thor and his brother.  He didn’t really believe anything good could come of this.  Anyone else would have left him to the fate he’d crafted for himself with his lies and jealousies and treasonous betrayals.  But Steve hadn’t.  And he didn’t regret what he’d done, at least not enough to make him wish whole-heartedly that he’d not done it.  Because even though he _knew_ everything was sadly absolute, he still hoped for the best.

 _“Whatever happens tomorrow you must promise me one thing: that you will stay who you are.”_   Erskine’s confident eyes and slow, faithful smile. _“Not a perfect soldier but a good man.”_

He’d made that promise.  The plane was dragging him down into his grave, and he couldn’t let himself regret.

“It was the right thing to do,” he whispered.

Loki was still, hovering over him, watching him.  Judging him.  Steve fought for each breath like it might be his last.  The short, panting gasps were thunderous in the vacuous quiet.  His heart was hammering against his breast, quaking as the ice cut through his flesh and froze the last of his blood.  And still Loki watched him, though what he was looking for, what he wanted now, Steve couldn’t say.  He didn’t give a damn if Loki believed him or not.  It was the truth.

“The right thing,” Loki finally repeated, his tone low and coarse.  He closed his eyes and finally leaned back from his threatening position.  Suddenly he seemed small.  He gave a humorless laugh and shook his head, tipping his eyes to the ceiling.  “Well, there is one thing I admire about you, Captain.  I admire your tenacity.”  That wetness returned, glistening at the corner of Loki’s eye and then slipping down his sallow cheek.  “Even if I do not find much comfort in it.  You try to seem so certain, but I don’t think you find comfort in it, either.”

Steve just wanted this to end.  “Made my – my choice,” he gasped.  “Not looking for anything more than that.”

Loki looked to him.  That storm was still there, but tucked beneath the surface once more.  Now he appeared defeated, wearied and bitterly amused, perhaps, by something Steve couldn’t understand.  “Then you truly are the fool I always imagined you to be,” he said.  This disgust was gone from his tone, replaced with acceptance.  Whatever he had been looking for, it seemed as though he’d found it.  His eyes drifted to Peggy’s letter where it sad idle and unfolded on the table.  “Nothing and no one in this universe should be so noble.  You put us all to shame.”

Steve whimpered and closed his eyes against the sting of tears.  He sagged against the pallet.  The last moments of his life…  He’d never imagined he’d spend them like this.

Suddenly there was a clamor of noise outside, shouting and running.  And even more suddenly Loki was back beside him.  The God of Mischief slapped his hand over Steve’s mouth again.  Steve howled a muffled cry, struggling now with every bit of whatever strength he still possessed.  It was hardly anything, but he got his left hand clenched around Loki’s forearm.  He pulled as hard as he could, but Loki was much stronger than him.

“Quiet, now,” Loki hissed.  “It would be but a small thing for me to smother you.”

Steve dug his fingers as deeply as he could into Loki’s flesh, but they wouldn’t function.  His muscles and tendons and bones were frozen.  And he couldn’t breathe…  He couldn’t breathe!

Loki was going to kill him.  All of this talk…  He’d really just come to kill him.

Loki’s eyes flashed.  “What do you want?” he asked coldly.  “No matter how I despise you, and believe me _I do,_ you saved my life.”

The hand shifted from his lips.  Steve shook his head, pushing himself away as best he could.  “No,” he hoarsely moaned.  “I don’t want–”

“How badly do you desire that I put you out of your wretched misery?”

Maybe he had wished for death before just to escape this horrible fate, but now he couldn’t.  He wouldn’t.  His life was not Loki’s to take.  “No!  Don’t!  Please!  Please don’t do this…”

“Now you beg for your life?  Why, so you can suffer a few more senseless, useless minutes reduced to this shivering, piteous weakling you’ve become?” Loki sneered.  He laughed cruelly.  “Forgive me if I’d rather not be bothered with your whimpering.”  And the hand pressed tightly over his mouth again.  Outside the ruckus was growing louder, closer, but the darkness was coming closer as well.  Light disappeared.  Everything disappeared, save for those harsh green eyes and that fake smile and the ice.  “I intend to flee, and I will not be held in anyone’s debt, least of all yours.  So I offer this to you.  A parting gift.”

Those eyes bored into his, and that spirit pushed inside his mind, ravaging thought and memory and nightmare.  Loki pressed his fingers tighter into his frozen flesh, never looking away, never blinking, never relenting, _never letting him go_.  The shadows came, the shadows and the cold and the poison, stripping away his memories and dreams and nightmares until everything he was, until his very soul, was laid open and raw and vulnerable.  There was nothing to protect him.  _Look away!_   He couldn’t.  He couldn’t!

Loki gasped, quivering.  “A life for a life.”

His world _ended_.

Steve screamed as the ice finally stabbed into his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

Loki was nowhere to be found.

The alarm had gone all through the palace, all through Asgard.  Warriors far and wide were participating in the frantic search, scouring the city for any signs of the missing prisoner.  The Bifrost was secured, Heimdall standing guard with his watchful eye turned firmly upon Asgard, seeking but one soul in all of the universe.  Everywhere homes were opened, rooms searched.  It was possible their quarry had already left; obviously Loki had found ways off Asgard, hidden routes and untraceable paths known only to him.  If he wanted to escape and if he could move fast enough, they would not able to catch him, and all of the Nine Realms would be open to him.

But somehow Thor knew Loki had not fled.  He _knew_ it in his heart.  His brother was yet in Asgard, and if they hurried, perhaps they could find him, perhaps they could reach him before this spiraled even further out of control…

He had to hurry.                    

“Have you found anything?” he asked Hogun.  He had returned to the front of the palace after racing through the dungeons, scouring the shadows frantically but finding no sign of Loki other than the two slain guards, their blood dark upon the floor.

“No,” Hogun answered.  His face was stern and calm but his eyes were alight with tension.  “I do not think he has escaped the palace.  He may be a master of evasion, but there are too many people about and every exit is guarded…”

Thor shook his head in frustration, struggling to calm his racing heart and charged breath.  He did not have the patience for this!  Every second that flew away was one less he could use to find his brother and, even worse, one less he could use to save Steve.  “This is madness…  He could not have disappeared!”

Sif approached, rushing inside from the courtyard beyond, her eyes ablaze.  She shook her head as she met Thor’s gaze.  “We have searched everywhere.  He is gone,” she breathlessly declared.

That was not possible!  Thor could hardly keep his ire contained, refusing to accept the very real possibility that Sif was right.  Aside from the guards he’d killed, Loki had skillfully avoided _everyone_.  But it did not sit well with him, as if any part of this damnable situation could.  If Loki had wanted only to escape, Thor didn’t think he’d be so restrained.  Loki was insane and no stranger to violence, and the deeper he tumbled into this psychotic side of himself the more unpredictable he became.  Still, he was too smart to believe his chances of escape to be anything more than remote.  Even with hidden paths and secret routes to his advantage, he would still need to breach the palace perimeter, which was heavily guarded.  Perhaps Loki’s skills in stealth and subterfuge were far beyond what they had anticipated or escape was not (at least not wholly) his goal.  There was something deliberate about this.

“Your orders?” Sif asked, watching Thor with icy blue eyes.

“The king?”

“He has not returned as of yet,” Sif responded.  “Thor, we cannot permit Loki to escape again.  As long as he lives, no one is safe.”

His temper failed him and he was about to snap in irritation at her obvious statement, but there was the sound of approaching feet behind them and they turned.  Down the gleaming entryway rushed his mother, surrounded by guards.  Her face was calm, but her frantic eyes betrayed that she was frightened and worried.  “Mother!” he called as she neared them.

Frigga frowned, her regal brow creased in confusion as she grasped Thor’s arms.  “Where is your brother?” she demanded.  She was rattled, winded, and very obviously frightened.  This was the most upset he could recall seeing her in quite some time.  Frigga was ever a source of serenity, of placid wisdom, a mediator in countless debates and arguments among her sons and husband.  She was blessed with a cool mind and gentle words that tempered panic and anger.  And right then she was positively flustered.  “Thor, where?”

“We have not found him,” Thor answered, perplexed himself by her sudden appearance.  She had sworn to remain with Steve.  What was she doing here?

She held him tighter, her eyes imploring.  That more than anything suggested something was seriously amiss.  “I was told you fought, that Loki was badly hurt…  Where…”  Her eyes widened as she took in her son’s appearance.  Thor was hale, without a mark upon him.  If truly he had fought with Loki, there would be signs of it…

Thor’s heart stopped.  Somebody had lied to his mother.  Only one person stood to gain from that.  And then it dawned on him, what Loki wanted.  Why he had drawn Frigga with this ploy away from the healing wing, wielding against her perhaps the only thing that would make her panic like this.  Thor’s blood turned to ice and his heart lurched in his chest.  _Oh, no…_   “Steve,” he whispered.

And then he was running, running as fast as he could.  He thundered through the palace, Mjölnir clenched in his hand as he tore around corners, down long corridors thick with night shadows, through empty courtyards, and upward toward the healing wing.  Only a few moments passed as he raced, his mind lost to a storm of fear and dread and anger, the palace a blur of gold and sable around him.  Finally he burst through the doors to the room where he had left Steve.

Loki was looming over Steve’s weakly struggling form, his face close to the soldier’s, malevolent and twisted in effort.  His green eyes were narrowed, glimmering with power, with dark magic, as he stared into Steve’s frightened blue ones.  Steve had gotten his good arm around Loki’s, but there was no way he could free himself.  Loki was smothering him.

Thor’s rage was unstoppable.  _“Get away from him!”_   He was across the room before Loki even had time to react, and he launched himself at his brother in a rough tackle.  The two of them collided with a table, sending shattered glass and broken wood flying.  Loki was crushed under Thor’s considerably larger size as they hit the hard marble floor.  Thor felt Loki’s head slam into the smooth surface, felt his body bend and bruise with the force of the impact, and he was glad for it.  Suddenly it all came to bear, the fury he had been suffering.  The grief and frustration and desperation.  These things had been banging and beating upon the cage his sense of propriety and duty and restraint had erected around them since the moment Sif and the Warriors Three had interrupted the Avengers’ morning in New York.  Now his emotions welled up inside him, gaining power and strength as the weight of all the horrors he had seen that day fueled its fire, and surged against his meager defenses.  Like a flood they came loose.  He didn’t try to stop it anymore.  He didn’t care.

He grabbed Loki beneath him, tangling his fingers in the other’s black hair, and slammed his head again to the floor.  The crack of Loki’s skull was loud, as was his cry of pain, but none of that could pierce the haze of hatred driving Thor now.  He pushed him down again, using all his weight to keep Loki pinned and helpless as he balled his hand into a fist and rammed it down.  Loki gave a wrangled yelp as his head was snapped back yet again by the punch.  Blood immediately spilled from his mouth.  Another punch followed, made powerful by every bit of Thor’s rage and raw strength.  And another.  _And another._   Thor couldn’t stop himself. His fingers curled around the white column of Loki’s throat, squeezing hard.  The God of Mischief squirmed beneath him, choking and bleeding and whimpering.  Suddenly any pity or concern he might have harbored for his brother’s plight was gone.  He could kill him now.  He could finish this.

He could _end_ him.

“Thor!  _Thor!_ ”

Frigga’s voice cut through the murderous haze, and her hand caught his fist as it was about to descend.  She pulled him back, and suddenly he saw her brown eyes.  The look of horror upon her face was enough to free him from his rage, and he let her drag him away from Loki’s coughing, gasping body.  Thor’s heart was pounding painfully, his breath a charged gasp through clenched teeth.  He was shaking.  “What sort of monster have you become?” he whispered, dismayed by how close he had come to murdering Loki in cold-blood to satiate his need for vengeance.

With a moan and a great deal of effort, Loki propped himself up onto his elbow.  He turned weakly to the side to spit a mouthful of blood to the once pristine floor.  “Monster?  Hardly.”

“You would murder a man who saved your life!”

“Would it not be a small piece of mercy to save him from this senseless suffering?” Loki snarled.  His teeth were stained red.  He crumpled at first when he tried to stand, but after a moment spent wavering he got his feet beneath him.  “Oh, how thoughtless of me.  It is a far more important thing to assuage your guilt that you did everything you could than to relieve him of this hellish death.”  Thor stepped forward threateningly, reaching for Mjölnir where he had dropped it moments ago.  “And do tell me how you plan to save him.  There isn’t much left to save at this point.”

Thor ripped his gaze to Steve.  His dear friend lay unmoving on the pallet.  His eyes were closed, his face permanently twisted into an expression of agony.  He was barely breathing.  Thor rushed to Steve’s side, horrified by what he found.  His legs were completely frozen, dark and deep blue in the shadows.  His hands were as well, locked into curled positions because they had turned to ice while he had been desperately holding on.  Fractals of the clearest white were climbing up his cheeks and across his forehead.  His chest… There was only ice.  No flesh or blood or muscle.  No skin or bone.  Under the rumpled blankets, his body was unblemished, perfectly frozen, save for the spike of white where he had been stabbed.

It was too late.  _Too late.  No!_

Tears burned in Thor’s eyes.  He shook his head, laying his hand against Steve’s breast over his heart.  There was still heat.  It was meager, weak, hardly anything at all against the biting cold.  But it was still there.  “His heart yet beats,” he whispered, shocked and alarmed.  Hope surged through him, making the room spin and his own heart race painfully.  “There is still a chance!”

He heard Frigga running behind him, likely seeking the eir or perhaps even Odin should he have returned with a golden apple.  Thor quickly worked to cover Steve in the blankets and his cape again.  It didn’t matter, but it was all he could do.  He felt Loki sneer, felt his disgust as though it were a palpable force slamming against him.  He supposed he should have taken Loki into custody, or at the very least prevented his escape, but he found he couldn’t move once he had restored the meager warmth around Steve’s body.  And Loki didn’t seem able to move either, though the chance to flee had presented itself.  “Why do you weep so for them?” Loki asked.  “When did you become so _weak_?”

“ _I_ am weak?” Thor returned, turning fiery eyes upon he who used to be his brother.  “You are the one chained to your own pettiness.  Or is that you feel you must embrace this evil you think you have inside you?  Laufey was a monster, but that does not mean–”

“You know _nothing_ of what it means!”

“It was never enough, was it?” Thor seethed.  “It was never enough to beat me.  You had to destroy those I love.  You could have spread your poisonous anarchy anywhere, but you chose earth.”

“They are nothing,” Loki answered matter-of-factly.  “They think themselves so powerful, so important, as they fight their little wars and prize their little heroes.  They were made to be ruled.”

“They were not,” Thor snapped.  “And you are nothing more than a jealous wretch.”

“Me?  Jealous of them?”  Loki’s face fractured in anger and a show of surprise, but Thor knew him well enough to see through the façade.  “You flatter yourself.”

Thor couldn’t keep still, the spite spilling from his mouth.  “Barton told me that the childhood we shared was a lie.  That it meant nothing to you.”  He shook his head against the pain crushing his soul and the tears filling his eyes.  “I tried to convince myself he was wrong.  I was a fool.  All you ever wanted, all you ever cared about, was power.”

Loki shrugged.  There was the tiniest glint of remorse, perhaps, in his eyes.  It could have been a trick of the flickering light or the desperation of Thor’s imagination.  “Power is the only absolute in this universe.”

“What of love?” Thor returned in a raw tone.

“Love is for children,” Loki responded simply, a placating smile spreading over his bruised face.  “One of your precious humans taught me that.”

That was enough to wrest Thor’s control away from him again, and he let loose a frustrated cry before standing and advancing on his brother.  He flung Mjölnir with all his strength behind it, and the hammer slammed into Loki’s chest and drove him back into the wall.  Stone and plaster buckled with the force of the impact, and Loki slumped under a rain of debris.  He tried to defend himself, raising his hands and clambering away from the ruined wall, but Thor was on him too quickly.  His hammer careened through the air in a mighty swing, catching Loki across the jaw.  The wall moaned and creaked with the damage done to it as Loki fell back into it again, knocked senseless. 

Thor growled and reached down and balled his fist in Loki’s tunic.  He hauled him to his feet only to be caught across the cheek by Loki’s fist.  The God of Mischief’s eyes twinkled in amusement as Thor stumbled back, surprised.  He pulled his hand away from his nose to find blood.  Loki smiled smugly.  “Come on, Thor,” he beckoned.  “Let us brawl like boys and see if it solves anything.  I’m sure Mother will come to break it up if we go too far.”

Thor roared and gripped Mjölnir tighter and charged.  Loki disappeared before his eyes, winking out of existence as though he’d never been there at all, and he staggered forward.  Before he had a chance to even slow himself, Loki was behind him, an arm wrapped tightly around his neck.  Thor choked, stumbling to his knees as the air was crushed from his throat.  Loki bared his teeth, shaking with the strain of holding Thor immobile.  “You are right.  It was never enough,” he hissed into Thor’s ear.  His strength was buckling as Thor struggled.  Blackness encroached on Thor’s vision and his lungs burned, but he wouldn’t submit.  “Do you know how much it hurts, how it _destroys_ you, to learn that everything you thought you were was a lie?”

Thor summoned all of his strength and threw his brother off of him.  Loki stumbled back as Thor’s elbow caught him in the nose.  Thor whirled, shoving Loki even farther away.  The slighter brother tripped over his own feet and tumbled to the floor.  “You should have sought solace in our family,” Thor said.   “In me.”

“Spoken like someone who has never known pain,” Loki returned as he rose.  “Like someone who has always been accepted.  I was nothing and nobody.”

“You were my brother!”

“I was to be king!” Loki shouted in absolute rage.  “That was all I had, _all_ I wanted, and Odin gave it to you!”  He swung at Thor then, as unwise and ridiculous as this was.  His anger and frustration afforded him nothing else.  “You took it from me!”  Thor dodged a swiping fist, but the kick that followed he couldn’t avoid.  He staggered back, wincing and gasping.  Then Loki was gone again, fading into blackness.  “You, who calls yourself _my_ brother.”  The low, venomous tone seemed to fill the room.  The lights winked and wavered as the cold wind rushed inside.  Thor straightened, darting his eyes about the shadows.  “You’re the greatest liar of them all.  You are no brother to me.”

“You chose your path,” Thor returned.  He lifted his hammer, stepping through the debris on the floor cautiously, moving closer to Steve’s unconscious form.  “I chose mine.”

“You chose a life among mortals,” Loki clarified from the darkness.  “In fact, you yearn for it, as if separation from them is more punishing than any torture you could otherwise face.  You have the chance to rule over them all, and you would throw that away for her.  And for him.  You don’t deserve the throne!”

Thor felt more than heard Loki’s jump from the shadows to his left, and he whirled, blocking a swift strike and countering with a blow of his own.  They fought for a moment, dancing in the melee, Loki attempting to leverage his speed over Thor’s size and raw strength.  It wasn’t enough.  He had no hope of defeating Thor.  In every contest of strength, in every scrape and fight of their youths, Loki had always lost.  This time was no exception.  Loki began to tire, and in a matter of seconds he was struggling simply to not be overwhelmed.  Thor batted him to the side, Mjölnir ringing as it slammed into Loki’s chest and sent him flying.  He struck the wall again, bleeding. 

Loki was gasping, fighting for each breath, but still he kept pushing, kept digging the venomous barbs of his words deeper into Thor’s heart.  “I regret nothing,” he gasped.  “Let your captain die.  Let him die.  Let them all die.  If I could, I would use them all to beat you down.”

Thor was there instantly, pinning his brother to the wall.  He slammed his forehead down into Loki’s, and a resounding _crack_ filled the air.  More of the wall shattered as Thor drove him back into it again.  He couldn’t stop.  He couldn’t hold back anything anymore.  He battered his brother, the rage carrying him to the very edge.  He grabbed Loki’s prone form at his feet and lifted him.  Loki deserved nothing less than death.  He needed to pay for what he’d done to earth and to Jane and to Steve.  Hate like nothing he had ever known rushed over him, potent and mighty and eager.  Justice would be swift and deadly.  Vengeance would be his.  He stood, holding Loki there, Mjölnir raised in his hand.

But he hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” Loki gasped, barely conscious.  He was savagely beaten, genuinely suffering.  “If you want to kill me, then kill me.  Put me out of my misery.”  Thor’s muscles were locked, his spirit wavering, sweat and tears stinging his eyes.  His fingers tightened around the hammer.  Loki’s eyes flashed wildly, steeped in insanity and so much self-loathing.  “Deliver unto me your justice.  I threatened your Midgardians, threatened the woman you love.  Your friend gave his life for mine and I spat in his face.  Smite me now, if you have it within you.  End this.”

Thor could hardly hear or think over the roar of his heart, could hardly see beyond this moment.  He held Loki’s life in his hands.  It was his to take.  He wanted to take it.  Loki’s face tightened in rage.  _“Kill me!”_

He couldn’t do it.

“No,” he said, lowering his hand.  He released Loki and took a step backward.  Loki slumped, holding his damaged chest.  Everything was still for a painful eternity.  Thor shook his head, grinding his teeth together in all the restraint he could muster as he made himself take another step back.  And another.  He watched his brother lean against the broken wall for its meager support, watched him gasp around a sob and stumble away, watched him stare back.  Despite all his cruelty and taunting, some part of Loki hadn’t believed Thor capable.  He wondered sadly if Loki knew how close he’d come.

The silence was deep and rife with grief and pain.  Thor never took his eyes from Loki’s battered face, breathing stiffly through his nose and trying desperately to reclaim his shattered composure.  Loki didn’t look away either, but now his expression was unreadable.  This was it.  This was the moment Thor would end it.

“Get out of here,” he ordered lowly.  “Leave and never come back.”

Loki’s eyes widened.  It was as if he didn’t understand or couldn’t believe what was happening, though Thor found he didn’t care.  He wasn’t certain of anything in that moment, not what he wanted or where he belonged or if there was ever a chance that Loki could be redeemed.  He only knew that Steve had thought there was, that Steve had laid down his life so that Loki could live and have that chance.  There was no way he could take away what Steve had sacrificed himself to give.

Loki remained pressed against the wall, alarmed and uncertain.  There was a great swirl of emotion in his eyes, but through the maelstrom of anger and grief there was the slightest glint of hope.  Thor’s frustration got the better of him and he pointed Mjölnir at Loki.  “If you ever raise your hand to those I love again, I swear on my honor that I _will_ kill you.”  The warning hung between them.  There was no doubt as to its veracity.  Thor would spare him this time, this _last_ time.  But he never would again.

_“Go!”_

That was enough to spurn Loki into action.  He scrambled through the debris against the wall and limped out to the balcony.  In the heavy darkness outside, he turned, and his eyes shone for the briefest moment.  Thor held his gaze, finding his brother, the charming, fun child from their youth, the confidant and co-conspirator and mischief-maker.  The loving friend.  He saw those things inside that monster for the first time in what felt to be forever.  Maybe there was a touch of understanding, just a bit of gratitude, of appreciation for everything they had once been together.  But it was gone in a flash of green and black as Loki leapt from the balcony and disappeared into the night.

Thor stood, breathing heavily, staring into the shadows.  Sound came back to him.  Shouting across Asgard.  Running in the hallways.  Someone was calling his name.  But he couldn’t move yet, too tired and worn and shocked by himself.  There would be consequences to this choice, he knew.  It was not as though Loki had promised to cease his madness, that he had sworn to abandon this maniacal quest to rule the Nine Realms, that he had expressed any sort of regret or repentance.  Still, the decision had been made, and it could not be unmade.  _Hurt them again,_ he thought, _and you will die._   That solemn promise was the only thing that offered any sort of security and peace to what he had done.

“Are you alright?”

“Thor, Captain Rogers–”

He broke from his stasis, whirling and running back to Steve’s side.  The ice was moving very quickly now, the solid, black mass of it gleaming wickedly in the darkness as it climbed up Steve’s neck.  Thor choked out a cry of desperation, ignoring the Warriors Three and Sif as they piled upon him their questions.  He didn’t care about the pain anymore, driving his arms under Steve’s body and pulling him into his embrace.  He moaned as the freezing misery instantly invaded his flesh, intent on destruction, but he wouldn’t let go.  He knew in his heart that all the heat in the world wouldn’t do any good now, but he couldn’t let him go!

“Steven,” Thor gasped.  He turned flashing eyes on his friends.  “Find my father!  Hurry!”

Sif looked sadly upon him.  “It is too late,” she quietly said.  “Please, my lord, let him be at peace.”

“No!  Did you not hear what I said?  Go and find my father!” he roared.  Tears were flooding his eyes, tears that made the world blur.  He should not have been so emotional, but he could not stop himself.  This was his fault.  It was all his fault.  He looked down at Steve, pulling the frozen torso into his lap, clutching him tighter against his chest.  “Steve, please…  I know you.  You fight.   You always fight!”

But Steve was not fighting now, not anymore.  There was no struggle, no more pain, no love of life, no fortitude.  He was still and lifeless, trapped forever in the wintry prison of his body.  The first sob itched in Thor’s throat as he helplessly watched the ice move up Steve’s chin and across his forehead.  The next he couldn’t hold back.  He had failed.  The Avengers had looked to him…  Jane had looked to him.  And he had failed.  “Please, my friend.  Please…”

“Leave, all of you.  _Now._ ”

Odin’s stern command shattered the seemingly hopeless moment.  Thor looked up with wide eyes that burned and stung to see the Allfather striding powerfully inside the healing room, Frigga and the eir beside him.  His heart leapt into his throat, and he shook with relief.  Sif and the Warriors Three hesitated but a moment, darting concerned and fearful eyes between their king and their prince.  But they had no choice but to comply, exiting the room rapidly and issuing orders that echoed down the hallway outside to the soldiers and warriors still rushing about the palace.  Sif paused momentarily at the door, looking worriedly upon Thor.  What she felt was open and raw then, but she clenched her jaw and straightened her form and said nothing.

Odin stood before his son, watching dispassionately as Thor cradled Steve closer.  He lifted a silken drape from what he carried in his right hand, revealing an apple that shone pale gold and beautiful in the dimness.  This he handed to the eir.  “Does he yet breathe?”

Thor saw the small puff of air before Steve’s white lips.  “Yes.”

“Then with all haste,” the king ordered.

Frigga and the eir worked quickly.  Other healers came and went, racing on light feet to aid their queen in her task as she extracted the nectar from the apple.  Thor forced his heart to remain still, not wanting to trust in the small possibility of salvation, not daring to hope.  He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Steve’s face, willing the ice to slow, willing those small clouds of breath to continue coming.  He pressed his hand to Steve’s chest again.  The heat was nearly gone.

Odin was silent.  Surely he knew what happened.  Thor glanced at him, uncertain how much of his fight with Loki the Warriors Three and Sif had seen, but the climax was damning.  His father’s wrath would surely be swift and harsh, and he feared he would simply break to have to face that now.  Yet the Allfather did not speak of it.  And, instead of chasing down his wayward, traitorous son and seeking his own retribution and absolution, he was there, at Thor’s side.  Though his face was stony and his gaze stern, that was some bit of comfort and strength.

They waited.  There was nothing else to be done now.  The seconds stretched into minutes, long and torturous and deep with fear.  Thor could hardly breathe.  The ice was vicious, cutting into his skin, but the pain was nothing.  The breaths grew more halting before his horrified eyes.  “Steve, you must fight now,” he softly implored.  “You must!”

Much to his surprise, Steve’s eyes opened to slits.  They were dull, devoid of vigor.  His white, frosted lips shifted, but Thor couldn’t hear what he was trying to say even though he pressed his ear close.  “You cannot die.  You cannot leave us.  The ice will not take you again!”

But it was.  _“Hurry!”_

Frigga was there, a bowl held carefully in her hands.  Inside the golden liquid glimmered.  There was not much, hardly more than a few sips of precious elixir.  She knelt on Steve’s other side.  “He must drink.”

Thor fought to lift Steve as much as he could, but his body was solid ice and wouldn’t bend.  He shifted his own legs under the weighty form to keep Steve up as he patted his cheek desperately.  “Steve.  Steve!”  Those blue eyes had nearly slipped shut again.  The ice cracked and groaned as it descended down the right side of his face.

Frigga shook her head, dismayed as the ice froze Steve’s eyes.  “Quickly!”

Together they held him as she tipped the small bowl to Steve’s lips.  As carefully as she could, she poured the nectar into his mouth.  It glowed warmly as it spilled inside.  It was impossible to tell if he swallowed; there was no part of his neck or chest that wasn’t ice, no skin to massage, no way to force the liquid down.  They watched intently.

Golden light shown through the ice, refracting and spreading through the crystalline structure of his throat and chest.  It was striking, beautiful.  Thor felt heat spread over him.

But as quickly as it had come, the light faded.  And the ice remained.  Untouched.  Unblemished.  Unstoppable.  It climbed up Steve’s chin and down his nose and across his cheeks.  It froze him solid.  The last breath of air fled through his parted lips, and he was gone.

_Gone._

Thor couldn’t believe it.  He couldn’t fathom how cruel fate was.  This wasn’t right.  This wasn’t fair.  This wasn’t right!  “No!” he cried.  He sobbed loudly, wrenching Steve’s body away from his mother and holding him tight.  “No!  Please, no!  Steve!  _Steve!_ ” 

Tears shone in Frigga’s eyes as she beheld her son’s misery.  Still, there was nothing she could do.  She rose slowly and turned away, sharing a glance with Odin.  The Allfather’s face softened, and he closed his eyes and bowed his head.  “Thor, you have done everything you could.”

“No!” Thor snapped, lost in his anguish.  “It cannot end this way!”

Odin looked upon his son sorrowfully.  “It has.  You cannot stop it.”

Thor squeezed his eyes shut, his father’s words filling his head in a vicious chant until it was all he knew, all he could think.  There was nothing he could have done.  All of this was in vain.  He could never have stopped it.  “No,” he moaned in despair, pulling Steve closer and burying his face into his friend’s neck.  The ice was smooth against his skin, leeching the heat from his flushed face.  It was almost comforting.  He sank into the cold.  “Steve, please…”

_Please…_


	9. Chapter 9

It was eight o’clock on a Saturday night, and the Stork Club was positively hopping.

Steve stood at the entrance, dressed sharply in his service uniform, his hat tucked under his arm as he scanned the crowds.  The sheer number of people there was overwhelming, celebrities and politicians and wealthy folk.  Waiters dressed in white tuxedo jackets rushed about, delivering cocktails and cigars and expensive meals.  It was loud, teeming with lively conversation and music.  Twinkling chandeliers and twinkling glasses and twinkling jewels.  It was far and away the most amazing, expensive place he’d ever seen, and he was downright awestruck.

But more than that, he was awestruck by her.

He’d scanned the busy dining room for her, his quick eyes checking faces and profiles and his ears straining for the slightest hint of her voice.  A few waiters moved around the tables, and some of the guests leaned other ways, and he found her.  Steve’s breath was stuck in his throat as he saw her, soft and stunning and sitting at a table for two by herself.  She wore a black dress that hugged her body in all of the right places, and her wavy hair was pulled back to frame her face.  Her lips were red, her skin pale and perfect, her eyes so deep and brown.  She looked up from her drink and caught his gaze and smiled that smile that made his heart race.

He crossed the room.  People greeted him with huge smiles and boundless enthusiasm.  There were dozens of other soldiers.  Some of them he knew and some he didn’t.  There was cheering and clapping.  Celebrities congratulated Captain America on his heroics, expressing heartfelt gratitude for what he had done for the country and for the world.  He politely accepted their gestures, but he really wasn’t paying attention.  Everything he’d been through.  Everything he’d sacrificed.  He’d done it for his country, certainly, and for his fellow soldiers. But most of all, he’d done it for her.

Finally, _finally_ , he made it to her table.  “It’s not polite to leave a lady waiting,” she chastised softly, the corner of her mouth lifting in a teasing, coy grin.

“Oh, uh, yeah.  Sorry about that.  Phillips wanted a report, and then the guys needed…”  He trailed off, the excuses lame and useless and he could hardly think anyway.  “You look amazing.”

She smiled widely.  He’d never seen her bashful, and it was downright shocking that he had made her blush.  “Yes, well,” she said, recovering herself quickly, “you are quite dapper yourself.”

He stood dumbly at the side of the table, trying to remember that he wasn’t the same Steve Rogers at whom all the girls snickered, that he wasn’t small and weak and sick and frail.  That he wasn’t nobody anymore, that he wasn’t that poor, pathetic kid that no one looked at twice.  He was Captain Steve Rogers, United States Army.  He was Captain America.  He’d defeated HYDRA, taken down Johann Schmidt and all of his evil plans, saved the world.  People looked at him with respect and admiration and reverence.  He was here at dinner with a beautiful woman because she’d _asked_ him to be there. 

“Would you care to sit?”  Peggy asked, amused.

He flushed with embarrassment.  “Right.  Sorry.”  He pulled out the chair and sat, setting his cover to the table.  A waiter came by, offering a bottle of champagne.  He poured them each a glass. 

Peggy lifted hers.  She seemed a bit nervous.  He knew her well enough to see that.  “To victory?”

He smiled softly.  “War’s not over,” he answered.  “HYDRA’s gone, but the Nazis are still out there.”

“Always a soldier, Steve,” she murmured, and he worried for a moment he’d offended her.  But her eyes shone in appreciation and just a bit of sadness.  He was right, after all.  The war wasn’t over.  Battle raged across Europe and in the Pacific.  The Allies and the United States needed Captain America.  Somebody would always need Captain America.  “To being here, then,” she amended.

It didn’t seem real.  None of it did.  But he raised his glass and toasted with her and smiled.  After they drank, they talked, talked in a way they never had during all of the long missions and difficult times.  Without the adrenaline and the shadows and the constant threat of death looming over him, he’d been afraid they’d have nothing to say to each other.  But that wasn’t so.  She was timid at first, maybe as uncertain as he was.  They’d seen so much, done so much, things that would scar.  But they’d come this far, so there was no sense in letting all the awkwardness of a first date slow them down.

He sat and listened to her speak of her family, of how she’d defied her father’s wishes, how she’d learned to shoot a gun, how she’d gotten to be the best.  He listened, but he was really watching her eyes glow, watching her red lips move, watching her expression loosen from a commanding military officer to a gentle woman.  He was mesmerized by her.  Everything, the war, HYDRA, losing Bucky… for once it seemed so far away.  She was with him, and everything felt so _right_.

He suddenly couldn’t sit still.  He felt bold, energized.  In love.  He’d never known what that felt like until now.  “Do you want to dance with me?”

Peggy looked a little surprised.  She set her champagne to the table and smiled.  “Alright.”  She rose elegantly, and he took her hand and together they walked through the busy dining room to the dance floor.  The band was atop a dais, dressed in sharp tuxedos and baring brass instruments that shone in the bright lights.  The floor was crowded with men in dark suits and women in glittering, expensive dresses, and as the musicians finished up their tune, people turned and clapped.

Steve stood stiffly, mortified.  He’d faced down the worst the Nazis and HYDRA had to offer, conquering monsters and nightmares and cruel, vile men like he’d been born to do it.  But this was terrifying.  “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he admitted at Peggy’s questioning look.

“Dancing with a beautiful dame?” she teased.

“Dancing with you.”  Her eyes softened at that, and her smile turned breathtakingly beautiful.

They stood for a moment until the band started playing something slow.  He wasn’t sure at all what to do with his hands or his arms or his feet.  Peggy smiled at him.  “At ease, soldier,” she whispered.  “I promised to show you how.”  She took his right hand in her left, folding their fingers together with such graceful ease.  He’d never noticed how much larger and rougher his hands were than hers before.  Hers were long and slender and delicate.  “Put your arm around me.”  She stepped into him, his heart leaping in his chest at her nearness, and slid under his left arm. 

He swallowed uncomfortably.  “Like this?”

She smiled, directing his arm lower so that it rested across the small of her back, just above her waist.  “Like this.”  Then she pressed herself to him.  He was a good head taller than her, but she was never anything less than his equal.  The music rose, sweet and mellow with deep horns and swishing cymbals.  “Alright, here we are.”

They stepped to the beat, his feet unsure but hers steadfast.  She guided him as they moved out among the other dancers.  Not once did her eyes leave his.  He fumbled nervously, mortified at the mere thought of stepping on her feet.  He kept trying to look down.  “Eyes on me, Captain,” she whispered.  He followed her orders, staring into those deep brown orbs, and then he relaxed.  It all came easier.  The steps and turns and she felt so wonderful in his arms.

The Stork Club faded away, the lights dimming, the chatter growing distant.  There was nothing but the music and her soft hands in his and her eyes.  He lost himself in her eyes.  She grinned slowly and closed the distance between them.  “You’ve waited forever for this,” she murmured.  “Is it everything you hoped?”

“More,” he said, “because it’s with the right partner.”

The song swelled, but they stopped because she’d taken his face in her hands and kissed him.  It was tender at first and somehow the same as what he remembered from those few frantic moments before jumping aboard the _Valkyrie_ yet entirely new.  There was more time now, freedom, no sense of panic and no disaster looming before them.  She deepened the kiss, pulling him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck.  He held her tight, elation filling him like electricity.  The Red Skull was dead.  The _Valkyrie_ was destroyed.  HYDRA’s power, drawn from that mysterious magic, was lost again to those that would use and abuse it.  The world was safe.

She was safe.

He kissed her and laughed against her lips and lifted her against him.  She laughed, too.  They’d lost people they’d loved, sacrificed so much, but now it was over.

And they could be together.

* * *

But the war went on.  Fighting still spread across the European theater, even without HYDRA’s diabolical plots fueling the Nazis’ bloodlust.  SSR reintegrated with the main Allied forces, and Captain America and his Howling Commandos raged across Italy as they aided in Operation Grapeshot.  The tired troops, fatigued and wounded by war, were energized to see Captain America lead them into battle.  Defeating HYDRA restored hope that the war could be won, that everything would end in Allied victory.  Steve and his friends had a large part to do with that, directing the battlefront, coordinating the offensive, taking part in the many skirmishes and contending with the most difficult and dangerous missions.

It didn’t stop when the tide turned in Italy, however.  A weary Colonel Phillips approached Steve before the beer had even been passed around to his men to talk to him about aiding in the Pacific.  The battle against the Japanese was proving long, difficult, and violent.  A contingent of SSR traveled to the Pacific with all due haste, hoping to arrive in time for Operation Detachment.  Everyone was exhausted and beaten down, but Steve rallied the last of his strength and the last of the men’s valor.  Peggy regarded him with worry, struggling valiantly to hide her fear, as he’d prepared to make this final effort.  The European theater, though nearly concluded, had certainly been dangerous enough.  The Pacific, however, was a wild unknown to them.  She never said it aloud, but she wanted him to stay, to deny his orders, imploring him with eyes that were wildly desperate.  This would be the largest, bloodiest battle in which he’d participated.  Iwo Jima was heavily fortified by the Japanese, and though his face was not known as well here, Captain America would still be a hefty prize for every sniper hiding in that jungle.  She held him tight and kissed him passionately and made him promise he’d come back.  He promised, and he always kept his promises.

The Howling Commandos joined the surge in February, 1945, bravely leading the American marines in their amphibious assault upon the small scrap of land that had become the turning point of the war in the Pacific.  Captain America was among the first to fight his way onto the beach, and he led the charge.  The battle was draining, difficult, and chaotic, but Steve stood above the wreckage and the dead men and rallied the Americans as he cut through the Japanese forces.  The Howling Commandos protected the wounded and coordinated the battle effort.  No matter what their captain kept going, kept fighting, even as explosions rained all around them and bullets slammed into the sand and his shield and his body.  He was unstoppable.  The battle was brutal and lasted for days, filled with ambushes and night attacks.  Only when it was all over, when the beach and surrounding jungle were secured, when the fight was won and his men were safe and the American flag was raised, did he collapse.

Steve awoke to the smell of medicine and antiseptic.  There were white washed walls and shining tiled floors.  The bed beneath him was firm but still softer than anything on which he’d slept in the last months.  Things hurt, but it was distant and dull.  A dark head, bowed in worry and weariness, was beside him, and somebody was holding his hand tightly.  He swallowed through a painfully dry mouth, struggling to moisten his tongue enough to speak.  “Peggy?” he whispered.

She lifted her head.  Her hair was mussed and her make-up was smudged.  She looked a wreck, pale and frowning with fear until she saw his open eyes.  “Oh, Steve,” she gasped.  A sob escaped her throat and tears filled her eyes.  “Steve!”  She leaned over him, pressing frantic kisses all over his face.  She didn’t care for once who was watching.  All this time in Italy, since their first date at the Stork Club, she had forbidden any public displays of their courtship.  She was nothing if not proud, and it was below them both, a captain in the United States Army and an agent of MI6 and SSR, to openly admit to their relationship.  Kisses were kept private.  They embraced only when she was sure they were alone.  Moments of weakness weren’t tolerated.  But now, with her heart torn by how near she’d come to losing him, she was desperate for him.  Her mouth closed over his possessively.  He groaned both from the power of her kiss and from her elbow digging into his sore ribs.  She pulled away, swallowing her sobs.  “Serves you right.”

“Peggy–”

“Never again,” she curtly admonished, brushing the wayward tears that had fallen on his face as she wiped her own red eyes.  “Do you hear me?  _Never_ again.”

She kissed him hard once more, not giving him a chance to answer.  He didn’t need to at any rate.

* * *

VE-Day came, and it heralded everything they wanted.  Euphoria spread across the Allies, rushing over Europe and America in a warm, joyous wave.  There was still fighting in the Pacific, but as Steve and the Commandos returned to London, they couldn’t help but bask in relief.  Finally the conflict in Europe was over.  The war was over.  _The war was over._

Deep underground in London, SSR was closing its doors.  Maps were rolled up.  Files were catalogued, labeled, and placed into boxes.  Equipment was sent to storage.  It was unreal, even unbelievable, that these things upon which they’d so depended over the last five years were now unnecessary.  Obsolete.  SSR agents and army personnel and British intelligence officers worked to pack away the past and look to the future.

Steve stood, talking to Phillips.  There were still loose ends.  What to do with the weapons they had procured from HYDRA.  What to do with Zola.  Where to go from here.  There was so much they still didn’t understand about HYDRA, about the power they had harnessed, and surely there were HYDRA cells that they hadn’t eradicated.  It was naïve to think they could ever completely destroy evil.  But that was frankly a discussion for another day.  For this day, at least, there was celebration.

He saw Peggy over by the situation room, files spread on the table before her.  She had her hair pinned back, her pencil skirt hugging her hips just so.  He walked slowly over.  He snatched the folder she had in her hands before she could close it and return it to the file box.  He smiled.  “So it wasn’t the muscles, then?”

She stiffened slightly as she was caught.  He saw the color come to her cheeks even though she tried ardently to remain still and composed.  He smiled roguishly, opening the file to take a closer look.  Sick, weak, and frail Steve Rogers suddenly stared at him.  The picture clipped inside took him aback.  There he was, the way he was, before Doctor Erskine and Colonel Phillips and Camp Lehigh and Project: Rebirth.  Before her.  He almost didn’t recognize himself.  His enlistment card was there, stamped “1A”, with his handwriting scrawled all over it.  Pages and pages of notes about his poor health but remarkable character.  Doctor Erskine’s thoughts.  _“Whatever happens tomorrow you must promise me one thing: that you will stay who you are.  Not a perfect soldier but a good man.”_

It wasn’t that long ago, but a lifetime had passed.

“It wasn’t just the muscles,” Peggy answered softly, breaking him from his reverie.  She smiled at him, taking back the file and sliding it into the case.  “Though they did help.”

He slipped his hand through hers when all eyes were turned elsewhere, thinking of Brooklyn and his parents and Bucky.

They went out that night to join the massive party spreading across London.  They’d earned it beyond any doubt.  They all had.  There was dancing and drinking and a rowdy good time as the GIs let loose in the wake of all they had suffered.  They’d won the war to end all wars.  They’d put down the evil men, the Nazis and HYDRA, dictators and terrorists and monsters.  They’d preserved liberty and ensured freedom.  Peggy donned that red dress, the one that took his breath away, and they found the majority of SSR filling the local pubs.  The Howling Commandos were there, already waiting for their captain with their frosty mugs raised and their heads held high.  Steve shared a drink with them, then two more, laughing about the good times and trying to put the bad to rest.  They were carefree for the first time in a long time. The pub was smoky and loud with good cheer, and the smells and sights reminded him of Bucky.  He didn’t let the grief get to him now, but it was still there, beneath the happiness and sense of accomplishment.  Buck’s chair was empty beside Dum Dum and Falsworth.  Steve could close his eyes and imagine him, smiling that rakish smile of his, eyes alight with mischief.  They toasted everyone who’d fallen in the line of duty, who’d made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause.

After that, he danced with Peggy.  He told her he loved her because things moved too fast to wait and he’d never been more certain of anything in his life.  Once all he’d ever wanted was to do what was right and to serve his country.  He still wanted that, but even more so, he wanted her.

The night went on.  Steve and Peggy danced it away.

* * *

He proposed to her a few months later.  Japan had finally surrendered, and the war was inexplicably becoming a distant memory.  It was surreal, impossible even, but as sure as day it was happening.  He was being summoned back to the States, to Washington DC.  She still had responsibilities as an agent for MI6.  Letting her go had never been an option, and it all happened so fast, too fast.  He didn’t even have a ring for her.

For being the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan, he sure flew by the seat of his pants sometimes.

The gray sky was spilling sheets of rain, veritably dumping a flood upon them, when she met him at Southhampton Docks.  Even in the horrendous weather, the docks were bustling.  All around them passengers and soldiers were boarding the ocean liner to travel to New York.  The ship was gray and looming over them as they stood beside it.  The weather was so miserable, but not as miserable as he felt and she looked.  Her hair was flat, her coat drenched. Water dripped from her nose.  “You don’t have to do this,” he yelled over the roar of the storm.  “Peg–”

She shook her head.  “I couldn’t just let you leave!”

Steve could hardly contain the pain he felt, watching the rain drip from her eyes like tears.  The war had brought them together.  All the trauma and fighting and desperate battle plans had forged their relationship.  And without the war, it could all end right now.  It could slip away like the rainwater sliding through his fingers as he reached out to push a sodden lock of hair away from her cheek.  He couldn’t let that happen.  “I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,” she said again lamely.  The rain was pelting them, and she was shivering.  “Write me as soon as you get ba–”

“Will you marry me?”

“What?”

He wasn’t sure if she didn’t hear him because of the pounding rain or if she was just flat-out shocked.  The words had come from nowhere, out of left field, out of his breaking heart.  Maybe he was Captain America, and he forever owed a debt to his country.  But he was hers, and he owed her even more.  “I said marry me!”

This time she understood him.  Her face fractured a second, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging limply open, and she stood still in the teeming rain, soaked to the bone.  Steve watched her expectantly.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, terrified of what she would say.  The long moments were washed away.  He’d never been so afraid.

Finally she straightened her posture a bit and closed her mouth.  She lifted her chin.  “You can’t give me orders,” she admonished, but she couldn’t keep her voice steady or the smile from her lips.

He grinned.  His heart was shaking in his chest, booming in exhilaration.  “The hell I can’t.  I’m a captain.”

The ship blew its horn so loud it shook the docks, and the rain came down hard and fast, but that didn’t stop her from throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with everything she had.

He was going to have to apologize to Senator Brandt for being late.

* * *

He married her on pleasant fall day.  They had a small service in a small church outside of London.  She wore a simple white dress.  He wore his service uniform.  There wasn’t much fuss and no frills.  He had no family.  Hers was not of any importance to her.  There was just Howard Stark, the closest thing they had to a mutual friend, and a woman he’d met named Maria who was pretty and quiet and very different from him.  They would bear witness.  The four stood at an old wooden alter, Peggy holding a bouquet of late summer flowers.  It was cool and the air smelled like rain.

The minister was an old fellow that Peggy had known in her youth, a man who’d survived the bombings of London.  He looked battle-worn and weary, but there was still hope for this generation in his eyes.  He knew who Steve was, but he made no mention.  It was a short ceremony before the eyes of God, sweet and easy.  “Do you, Steven Grant Rogers, take this woman, Margaret Lorraine Carter…”

The words didn’t matter.  Steve looked into Peggy’s eyes as he slid a simple gold band on her finger.  He held her hands tighter.  The hands that had tentatively touched him as he’d emerged from Stark’s chamber in this strange new body to a frightening new purpose.  The hands that had patched him up in secret after a particularly brutal skirmish so the men wouldn’t see that he wasn’t invincible.  The hands that led him, that had been so tender atop his when the pain from losing Bucky had been so near.  He felt his mouth moving, heard his voice.  “Yes, I do.”

She smiled.  The minister went on, his words peaceful and even, and she never broke her gaze from his.  Peggy had always pursued what she’d wanted no matter the obstacles.  No matter the number of doors slammed in her face.  No matter what people thought or how they discouraged her.  It seemed an impossible dream come true that the thing she wanted now most of all was him.  “I do, too.”  She placed a matching gold ring on his hand.

The minister beamed.  “You may kiss.”  Steve could barely breathe for the knot of excitement in his throat, his heart jumping and his stomach twisted into knots.  Peggy’s red lips curled in that coy smile of hers.  Inviting him.  “Kiss her, Captain.”

He did.

Howard shook his hand afterward and told him he’d won the war.  Steve knew he wasn’t talking about defeating HYDRA.

They found a quaint bed and breakfast that the Blitz had mostly spared.  The autumn evening was wonderful, the last warmth of summer clinging peacefully to the breeze.  The wind streamed through the open window of their room, the curtains rustling gently.  The moon was bright, the day’s puffy clouds fading to hazy wisps across the night sky.  Steve was nervous; there was no denying it.  Until Peggy, he’d never even kissed a girl, let alone…

She was resolute.  “Isn’t Captain America supposed to be fearless?” she asked softly as she slid her hands up his jacket.  “You look positively terrified.”

He managed a feeble grin.  “You’re not?”

“Have you ever known me to be afraid?” she asked, but her hands shook ever so slightly as she worked on the buttons of his uniform. 

That eased him, amused him even, and he cupped her face in his hands.  He swept his thumbs over her cheeks.  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

Restraint snapped.  Hesitation disappeared.  He attacked her mouth with fervor as she undid the buttons as fast she could manage.  He slipped his hands into her hair, the silky tresses sliding through his fingers as they came loose from their pins.  Their kiss was hot, passionate, her lips parting to his eager tongue.  Breathing seemed a major inconvenience, neither willing to let go.  Finally she succeeded in getting his uniform coat from his shoulders and fumbled for his tie and shirt as he kicked off his shoes.  A moment later he stood shirtless and groaning as she pressed wet, hot kisses down his throat and his heaving chest.  Her hands caressed and explored and he could hardly stand the torment.  He was helpless, tied to her every breath, to every seductive look, every brush of her lips and teeth to his skin.  She unbuckled his belt.  “God, Peggy…”

She smiled, pleased with herself, and rose.  She turned, sweeping her unbound hair aside with one hand.  “Unzip me, please?”

He swallowed, aching, and reached for the zipper of her dress.  It was tiny and he clumsily tried to get it for a horribly long moment.  Then he pulled it down.  It was loud in the night, but not as loud as his pounding heart.  A white expanse of flawless skin, of perfect curves, was unveiled to his hungry eyes.  Tentatively he laid his hand to her back.  She was soft and smooth, and his second hand joined the first in lightly tracing their way up to her shoulders.  He pushed the dress down, and it puddled on the floor around her feet.

She turned, smiling still, her eyes dark with desire.  Her hand found his, and she lifted it to her mouth, caressing his thumb with her lips.  He was entranced, too aroused to do anything other than watch her like a fool and try to hang on.  She tugged him toward her.  Huskily she commanded, “Take me to bed, Steve.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He was a good soldier, after all, and good soldiers followed orders.

* * *

They went back to the States.  Peggy claimed she had business with Phillips in DC, some sort of remaining affairs from SSR.  Steve didn’t care if it was just an excuse; infatuation didn’t begin to describe the depth of his love for her.  Happy didn’t begin to encompass the sense of peace and excitement for life he felt.  The war was behind them.  The pain and fear and unending days of struggling and nights of worry were long gone.  They had their whole lives ahead of them.  Their whole lives _together_.

She went with him to Brooklyn to see Bucky’s grave.  His parents had purchased the tombstone to mark a plot that would never be filled.  He’d stood in front of it, the crisp, cold air drawing the heat from his body and the strength from his heart.  But she’d been there with him, pulling his hand from his pocket to tightly take it in her own.  “He always thought I was worth it,” Steve murmured.

“You were.  You are,” she answered.  “And so was he.”

There were other graves, too.  Those of his parents.  He looked down on them and realized then that if it hadn’t been for her, he’d be completely alone in this world.  He thought his mother and father would be proud of the man he’d become and the woman he’d married.

The country was alive with the end of the war.  The returning GIs were hailed as heroes, and Captain America was the most revered of all.  Brandt had summoned him to Washington to receive the Medal of Honor for stopping HYDRA, single-handedly defeating the Red Skull, and saving the world.  This time he showed up to receive it.  The event was a huge affair, mostly because of Brandt who spent a small fortune on playing up his faith in Project: Rebirth and what it had done for the world.  Steve didn’t care for the attention, but he suffered through it, taking every opportunity to remind people that it had been a team effort, that he hadn’t done it alone.  He’d had the Howling Commandos (who, to be fair, had all received medals as well that day), Colonel Phillips, Stark, SSR, and the entirety of the United States Army and the Allies behind him.  But he was the star of the hour.

He met President Truman, who shook his hand and personally thanked him on behalf of a grateful nation.  He danced with Peggy at the ball held in their honor.  He hobnobbed with the higher-ups of the army and of Congress; everybody was clambering over him, pitching him this idea or that, wondering what he intended to do now.  He wasn’t sure.

His answer came a few weeks later.

They’d bought a place in the Hudson Valley, close enough to the city to stay as involved as they wanted but not so close as to not have an escape.  They lay in their bed one night, tangled in the sheets and in each other, naked and spent.  Steve had his head pillowed on Peggy’s stomach, and she brushed her fingers through his sweaty hair.  “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

She didn’t say anything more, and he grew concerned.  He propped himself up on his elbow, angling about to look in her eyes.  Now she did look afraid.  More afraid and uncertain than he’d ever seen her be.  Worry rushed over him, blasting away his contented weariness.  “What’s the matter?” he asked.  Still she didn’t answer.  “Peggy, what–”

“I’m pregnant.”

He couldn’t make sense of what she said for what seemed to be forever.  He’d heard the words, sure, but his brain utterly failed to comprehend them.  She watched him expectantly, obviously scared of his response.  He realized he must have been staring like an idiot.  “We’re gonna have a baby?”  He could hardly believe it.  She winced with tears.  He didn’t understand, sitting up in alarm and moving closer to her.  He gathered her into his arms, and she collapsed to his chest.  “What?  Why are you crying?  That’s wonderful!”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Then–”

“What if…  Steve, who knows what the serum…”  She couldn’t say anything more, swallowing against him.  Her hot tears dripped down his breast. 

He swept his hand down her back and hushed her softly.  “It’ll be alright,” he swore.

She was far too smart to be placated by empty promises, and they both knew it, but she didn’t argue with him.  “How do you know?”

“I don’t.”  She looked up at him with teary eyes.  He smiled.  “I just have faith.”

She smiled too after a moment and settled herself back upon his chest.  He planted a kiss to the crown of her head and rubbed his hand gently up and down her back.  Eventually her uneven breaths calmed and she fell asleep.

The silence was deep.  Every nerve in his body seemed to be tingling.  He was afraid, too, but not because they were dealing with a scientific unknown.  The enormity of it all left him reeling.  He was going to be a father.

* * *

Seven months passed.  After that night when she’d told him, she hadn’t shed another tear.  If she was still afraid, she never let it show.  She was calm, radiant and stunning, but stoic.  He was the excited one, stealing glances at her all the time no matter what they were doing because he was too thrilled to keep it bottled up.  She was a military woman, a career woman, and this was a major change to that.  But after the morning sickness passed and her abdomen began to swell to the point where she couldn’t hide it anymore, she eased into acceptance of it all.

And when their baby began to move within her, she fell in love all over again.

The first time he felt those tiny kicks, he felt pride like nothing he’d ever known before.  She held his hand over the bulge of her stomach, watching his wide eyes with a smile brighter than the sun splayed across her face.  “Wow,” Steve breathed.

“He’s got your strength,” Peggy said appreciatively.

“How do you know it’s a boy?”

“Mother’s intuition.”

As the pregnancy went on, she began to fear less and less that the baby wasn’t healthy.  Or that the baby was _too_ healthy.  Perhaps the serum would have some effect; the only person who could likely explain the possible outcomes was long dead.  Perhaps not.  There was simply no way to tell.  So they decided not to worry.  This was their child, and they would love it no matter what.

It was nearly Christmas when Peggy went into labor.  Steve rushed her to the hospital and then paced the waiting room frantically, one step above an absolutely nervous wreck.  He was grinding his feet into the tiled floor so hard he cracked one without even realizing it.  He couldn’t stand being there by himself, and before he thought better of it, he was calling Howard Stark.

It was the middle of the night, but Stark came all the same.  He looked a bit bedraggled.  He was still courting Maria, not quite willing to give up his wild ways and settle down.  Steve and Howard didn’t have much in common, and never had, really, were it not for the war, SSR, and Peggy.  “How long has it been?” Howard asked, sitting next to Steve in the empty waiting room.

“Few hours,” Steve said dejectedly.

“You know, pal, you could probably muscle your way in there and nobody would be able to stop you.”  Steve winced.  As alluring as that sounded, it just wasn’t right.  “You want a drink?  Have a drink.”  Howard produced a flask of something – it smelled like bourbon – from his winter coat.

“You know that doesn’t work on me,” Steve reminded.

Howard sighed, uncorked it, and took a long swig.  “Works on me, though.”  Then he offered the flask to Steve.  A slow smile curled Steve’s lips.  He’d thought once that Peggy and Howard might have been an item; he still felt just a little embarrassed about the fondue incident.  At the time he’d thought Stark to be little more than a womanizer, a ladies’ man with no actual care for anyone besides himself.  But he realized now, looking at Howard’s tense face and seeing the concern in his dark eyes that he was trying to hide, that the millionaire really did care about Peggy.  That he really cared about them.  He might have been the most stylish, the most suave, the richest and most arrogant ass Steve knew, but underneath all of his swagger he was a good man.

He took Howard’s flask and swallowed a mouthful.  It burned all the way down his throat.

It was nearly dawn by the time a nurse came for him.  Howard had fallen asleep hours ago, his head pillowed on Steve’s shoulder.  “Captain Rogers?”

He jerked upright, knocking Howard awake.  “Where’s Peggy?  Is she okay?”

The nurse smiled compassionately.  “Of course she is.  If you’ll follow me.”

Steve sprang to his feet.  He glanced over to Howard to find the other man groggily wiping at his eyes.  “Go get ’em, Cap,” he slurred.

He did.  Clenching every muscle in his body was all he could do to not plow the nurse over as she calmly and agonizingly slowly led him down the white, brightly lit corridors.  Anticipation coiled with anxiety, and his mind was so overrun that he couldn’t manage a thought.  Finally they reached a room, and the nurse opened the door for him.

Morning sunlight streamed brightly inside through a large, snowy window.  Peggy sat in a hospital bed, and when she saw him, her face filled with happiness.  She looked exhausted, but she smiled.  “Come here,” she beckoned.  “Come and meet your son.”

He was across the room in two huge strides.  He looked down at her and at the small bundle nestled against her breast that was wrapped in white swaddling and blankets.  Awe swept over him, followed by exhilaration and joy and just a bit of fear.  He sunk to his knees at her side, his eyes fixed upon the tiny body she held.  Pink, puckered skin.  Ten small fingers and ten small toes.  He reached his hand toward the baby, his hand that was huge and strong, and carefully brushed his fingers across soft, new skin.

She offered his son to him.  Terror like nothing else froze his arms for a minute, but at her calm, reassuring grin he let her settle the baby in his arms.  The little boy squirmed, squeaking a cry before nestling into his embrace.

Steve couldn’t believe it.  He didn’t think he could feel so much love so quickly.  Tears stung his eyes.  “What are we gonna call him?”

“James,” Peggy supplied in a soft, sure voice.

Something inside him ached, but it was a good ache, like his heart was swelling with pride and devotion to the point of bursting.  “Bucky would’ve liked that.”  Steve leaned over his son and kissed his wife and cherished them both.

* * *

They were sending him to Korea.

The request had come straight from President Truman.  He’d been summoned to Washington for it, knowing what they were going to ask before even stepping foot on the train and dreading it and hating it.  He had to go; he was still a captain in the United States Army.  He couldn’t ignore the President.

He came back home with a heavy heart and a soul quaking in fear.  James was only five, and their baby girl, Eleanor, was barely a toddler.  Peggy was more than capable of caring for them; she was an excellent mother, stern when she had to be but always loving, blessed with patience that Steve thought boundless and inhuman at times.  But he knew that she was going to argue with him.  He knew it.

He waited until the children were both asleep before telling her.  He knew she had suspected something the minute he’d informed her he needed to travel to Washington.  They’d both been watching the situation unfold overseas with mounting concern and tension.  Still, his soft declaration made that distant threat real and unavoidable.

She was as sharp tongued as she always had been.  “You have a family now.  You can’t just leave us!”  She was standing, dressed in a simple, cotton nightgown.  Her accent always grew more pronounced when she was upset.  Right then she sounded more British than she had in years.  The room was hot with summer and tight with rage and pain.  “You can’t!”

“I can’t disobey an order,” Steve returned.  He sat on their bed, trying to remain still, fighting to stay calm.

“Then quit the army!” she returned as though she were explaining something blatantly obvious to a simpleton.  “You’ve already given enough for this country.  More than enough.  You practically won the war for them!”

Steve shook his head.  “You know that’s not true.”

She turned to face him, her eyes flashing furiously.  Her jaw was set stubbornly.  He knew that harsh look; she’d worn it in the past but never at him.  “You can’t leave us,” she said again, slowly and forcefully like repeating the words over and over again could make them true somehow.

“I have to,” he returned.

“I gave up my career,” she sniped back.  “I gave up what I loved, who I was, for you!  For our family!”

Now he was starting to lose his cool.  He clenched his hands into fists around the mattress and squeezed.  The metal frame within it bent.  “That’s not fair, Peggy,” he returned.  “And it’s not the same.”

“And why not?  Because you’re a man and I’m a woman?  The war ends and men can continue to do whatever the hell they please and define the world as they see fit.  But we fair, simpering women must return to the kitchen and the nursery and the bedroom.  Is that it?”

She was trying to hurt him.  She was lashing out in anger.  He wasn’t sure he blamed her, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit and take it.  “No!  When have I _ever_ said anything like that?  Don’t you dare put words in my mouth!”

“Then why?  Because you’re bloody Captain America?”

He stood.  He towered over her.  “Yes!” he snapped.  “Because I’m Captain America, and the President of the United States wants me to fight for my country.  Or have you forgotten that I was meant to do this?   That that was the damn point of it all?  To protect freedom?  You’re the one who told me that!”

“That was eight years ago,” she said in exasperation, “and you’ve done more than your share.  Haven’t you sacrificed enough?  Haven’t we?”

He dug his feet into the ground.  They rarely fought because everything they wanted they wanted together.  But they were both stubborn to a fault.  Neither of them ever backed down from what they thought was right.  “If there are people who are gonna die, I have to be there to stop that.  You know that.”

“No,” she said, adamantly shaking her head.  “You’re not a glorified shield.  You’re not theirs to use!  They can’t make you.”

“Peggy, do you honestly think I’d leave you and the kids if I could avoid it?  Do you think I _want_ to go over there, on the other side of the whole goddamn world, and fight another war?  How can you honestly think that?”

“Then don’t go!”

“I don’t have a choice!  Stop punishing me for something I can’t control!”

“You can control it,” she snapped coldly, “and you _do_ have a choice.  You’re choosing to be Captain America over being a father and a husband.”

That cut hard and deep.  Anger spread over him, hot and vicious.  He couldn’t think of anything to say.  There was nothing to say.  He couldn’t fathom how cruel she was being.  He stood toe to toe to with her, glaring at her, waiting for an apology.  It never came.  “If that’s what you think,” he finally said, unable to keep the raw edge of his emotions from bleeding into his tone, “then we’ve got nothing more to say.”

He stormed past her and was down the stairs and out into the hot night air a breath later.  He rammed his fist into their pickup truck in the driveway, veritably smashing the door.  The bang and the sound of bending metal echoed loudly in the quiet.  He stalked off into the steamy night.

Steve came back after he cooled down.  A long run around the countryside had eased his anger to the point where it wasn’t boiling.  His gut felt tied into knots, and his heart was dead in his chest.  He sat on the porch, listening to the cacophony of crickets and cicadas for a while, breathing as deeply as he could.  It was late.  He closed his eyes, losing himself in the peaceful quiet.  He could hear it all in that moment.  The guns spitting.  Explosions.  Men screaming and dying.  It was all _there_ again, the memories and the nightmares.  War.

He hadn’t held his shield in five years.

“Steve?”

He didn’t turn at Peggy’s soft call.  The porch door creaked as she opened it.  He stiffened, unable to make himself look at her, angry and ashamed and bleeding inside.  Her choked sob cut through the heavy silence.  Suddenly he couldn’t stand it anymore and was up and across the old porch in a breath.  He pulled her into his arms, crushing her to his chest.  “I’m sorry,” she moaned into his sweat-soaked shirt.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” he whispered, his eyes burning.

“I can’t stand to lose you…  I don’t know what I’d do.  I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“If you’re going, I should go with you.”  Her words came faster, slurred with guilt and fear.  “But I know I can’t and I hate myself for it.  James and Ellie…  I’m not strong enough to stay behind and wait like a damn helpless ninny and worry.  I’m not strong enough to be brave for our children and brave for myself.”

“Yes, you are.  You’re the strongest person I know.  Stronger than me.  You always have been.”

She said nothing for a long pause, weeping against him.  He let her cry until eventually she composed herself.  She always did.  “Steve, I love you.  I love you more than I can ever say.  I’m…  I’m scared to death.”  He couldn’t let her admit that.  He pulled her away from his chest and kissed her roughly.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and devoured his mouth, tangling her hands into his hair.  He swept her up into his embrace like she weighed nothing and carried her inside their house, taking the steps two at a time to reach their bedroom.  He laid her in their bed, yanking off his shirt as she wriggled out of her nightgown.

They made love, at first with raw desperation driving them, but then slowly and tenderly, memorizing hard lines and soft curves and pleasure.  He wanted to burn every part of her into him.  Afterwards, she fell asleep.  He didn’t, though.  He held her and listened to the night.  The sound of gunfire was gone.

* * *

The world would always need Captain America.  There was evil that didn’t sleep, evil that thirsted for power and death and destruction.  He was the shield between the innocent and the monsters, the man who stood between doom and hope.  The evil in the world would always try to destroy him.

But it had failed again.

After almost a year, Steve came home from Korea in his dusty uniform with the American star blazing proudly upon his chest and his shield strapped to his back.  He came home to his children running across the yard, screaming “papa!” at the tops of their lungs.  He scooped both of them up at once, kissing them frantically and holding them close.  He laughed and hugged them and blinked back his tears; he’d missed them terribly, missed so many days of their precious lives.  Peggy waited on the porch, letting her children have their father before she had her husband.  When he reached her, he set them down and enveloped her tightly.  Their kiss was long and hungry and relieved.

He was worn and wearied but otherwise healthy.  Still, he slept for what felt like days, laying in their bed with the children climbing all over him and his wife spooned against his side.  They were a family again, and everything else, the dawning realization that defeating HYDRA and winning the last great war hadn’t put an end to the evil in the world, could be forgotten.  For this moment, at least, they weren’t going to let the truth ruin their fantasy.

It was storming outside, a spring storm that brought quiet thunder and gentle rain.  It was early morning.  Steve awoke to a weight on one arm and another weight on the other.  Both kids were soundly slumbering on top of him.  Part of him realized that they were too old to be sleeping with their parents, but he’d been gone for what felt like an eternity and every moment like this was too important to interrupt.

Peggy sat at the desk in their room, looking over some papers.  He couldn’t see what they were.  “What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She nearly startled before turning around and skewering him with a mock glare.  She’d let her hair grow long while he’d been gone, and it was thick and wavy and lush.  She pulled her reading glasses from her nose and set them atop her work.  “Going over some things for Howard,” she replied.

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Stark?”

“Yes.”

“Of all the guys you could have shacked up with while I was gone, you picked him?  Fondue is out of style.”

She gave him a long-suffering glare.  “General Phillips and he are in the midst of forming a new military branch specifically designed to contend with threats like HYDRA.  They’re reforming SSR.”  The cheeky smile slid from his face.  He didn’t like the sound of this. Not because he disliked Phillips or the idea of revitalizing SSR, but because if they were doing it, then they obviously thought there was a need for it.  “We had numerous meetings about this while you were away.  Apparently Phillips is concerned about some recent intel that HYDRA, or at least splinter cells of it, may be on the move again.”

“They want you to help tracking them down?” Steve asked.

She looked a tad sheepish.  “They want me to help them lead it.”

Thunder grumbled in the distance, and rain splattered against the window panes.  Steve sat up as much as he could without disrupting the children, watching Peggy as she turned back to her files.  He didn’t know what to think.  Obviously she was waiting for his opinion.  “You’re the best qualified there is,” he finally said.  That was for damn sure, at any rate.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she responded.

The enormity of what she was implying made him grimace.  Danger and long hours and difficult decisions.  Those few precious years of peace that they’d shared suddenly seemed so far away.  “Peggy, I don’t–”

“You were right, Steve.  The world needs Captain America to protect it.  But you’re not the only one who can or should.”  There was pain in her voice.  Carefully he moved the kids off of him and settled them gently into the blankets before padding across the room to her.  He set his hand on her shoulder, and she reached up to take it.  “There is only one of you.  You can’t face it all.  This is what I can do to help.”

He looked down at the papers strewn over the desk.  They had been working on this for some time.  Budgets and preliminary plans and operational schematics.  Stark’s fingerprints were all over this project.  His quick eyes scanned the documents.  “This is seriously what you’re calling it?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division,” she said.  “Yes.”

“That’s…”  At her sharp glance he stopped.  “A mouthful.  Something to _really_ instill fear into your enemies.”

“I came up with it.”

He couldn’t keep a straight face.  She said that so plainly, like the mere fact it came from her brain would make it less atrocious.  “That’s terrible,” he said around the mirth he was struggling to swallow.

She turned and smacked him playfully across the belly, and he let out a loud laugh.  “You’ll wake them!”  That didn’t stop him from laughing again as she returned to dutifully scribing one of the first of many memos across SHIELD letterhead.

* * *

Steve wasn’t getting older.

At first they both tried not to notice.  Their children were well into primary school.  James was no longer a scrawny boy; he was old enough to ask questions, to learn about the Great War, and to understand who his parents were.  He was the first one who mentioned it, but even as mature as he was, the miserable implications of what he said weren’t obvious to him.  He wondered why his mother looked different.  Peggy’s hair had a streak of white here or there in it.  Steve’s didn’t.  Peggy’s body sometimes bemoaned the abuse of old wounds and mistreatment from the war.  Steve’s was as perfect and powerful as ever.  Peggy’s face was showing the first signs of wrinkles and worry lines about her glowing eyes and mouth.  Her lips were a tad thinner, her skin not quite so vibrant.  Peggy looked like she was nearing forty.

It was the fourth of July, 1955, and it was his thirty-seventh birthday.  But he still looked like he was twenty-five.

They were on their way to the town’s barbecue and fireworks celebration.  They’d chosen this place to live because it was small, small enough that nobody really knew who they were.  The people here were simple, farmers and family doctors and teachers and hardware store owners, and everything was peaceful and quiet.  Pleasant families.  Nice folks.  So as Steve walked down the town’s main street, dressed in jeans and a button down cotton shirt, nobody thought twice about him.  Except for the young girls in their full skirts with their hair pulled up into pony tails.  They ogled him and stared unabashedly and giggled to each other as he passed them, their eyes as wide as saucers at his impressive physique.  He wondered if they had any idea they were ogling a thirty-seven year old.

Ellie was atop his shoulders.  They hadn’t invented a dress that they could keep that girl in.  She was wearing her dirty play clothes that she always wore, laughing as her father jostled her playfully.  James walked beside him, quiet and contemplative.  Peggy was ahead, speaking with some of the other mothers.  She glanced back at them, and he wondered when it had happened that she blended in so well with civilians.  He still saw her as who she had been, guns blazing and more beautiful than any pin-up, bringing hell to HYDRA.

“Pop?”

“What, Jimmy?”

“How come Mama looks so much older than you?”

Steve clenched his jaw just a bit and he looked down at his boy.  His boy that reminded him so much of himself.  Peggy had been so concerned that their children would be born altered by the super soldier serum.  Frankly, he’d been worried that they wouldn’t be.  He’d spent his childhood sick and weak and small and constantly passed over.  He would never wish that upon anyone, let alone his own children.  Thankfully, neither James nor Ellie seemed to be afflicted by disease or defect.  They’d secretly taken them both when they had been infants to every doctor they could trust, Erskine’s old colleagues and assistants, anyone Howard thought was on the level.  Tests and blood work had shown that both of them _had_ been affected by the serum, but not nearly to the extent their father was.  Steve had felt both relieved and disappointed.  As they’d driven back to their house after having Ellie examined, he’d remarked to Peggy that it was unfortunate they couldn’t breed their own army of super soldiers.  She’d looked at him, obviously as unsure of what to think as he was, but seductively whispered in his ear that they could still have fun trying.

It became more and more obvious as the kids grew that they had indeed inherited some of their father’s powers.  They didn’t get sick.  They were a tad faster, a tad stronger and a tad smarter, than their peers.  James was beginning to realize he was a little different from the other boys but not as much as he was realizing that his mother was a lot different from his father.  This wasn’t the first time he’d said something about it.  It was just the first time he’d outright asked.

Steve didn’t know what to say.  “You know about who I am,” he said.

James nodded beside him, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  “You’re Captain America,” he said quietly, looking down at his feet like he wasn’t quite sure what he thought about it.

“Yeah,” Steve softly agreed, squinting into the sunset.  “The serum they gave me during the war to make me Captain America doesn’t let me get older.”

“How come they didn’t give it to Mama, too?”

The question made his soul ache.  James was too perceptive for his own good sometimes.  He forced a smile to his face and set his hand upon his son’s blond head.  “Hey, don’t worry about this.  Look at your mom.  You think anything is ever gonna stop her?”  James did look at Peggy, Peggy who was bathed in the dying light of setting sun, who looked positively radiant with a golden halo spread around her.  He smiled, and Steve ruffled his hair, and James pushed him away and blushed.

But it all stuck with him.  Later that night, after a meal that made even Steve feel uncomfortably full, after tired, heat-soaked bodies had lain in the grass in the town’s green and watched fireworks light the sky, after the kids were peacefully asleep, he watched Peggy brush her hair as he undressed.  She was watching herself in the mirror on the vanity, her eyes becoming more and more distant, the brush slowing as it moved.  She focused on him, on the reflection of his broad, bare chest in the mirror.  Unblemished skin.  Muscles that never tired, never failed.  Perfection.

“Steve?”

He knew the question she was going to ask before she asked it.  She stared at herself, forlorn and defeated, and suddenly she looked so different to him.  That fire in her eyes that he loved so much dimmed ever so slightly, and he saw it right away.  “Do you still think I’m beautiful?”

This was so unlike her.  She never doubted.  She was cool and confident, so sure of herself and what she could do.  He ached at seeing her face so pale, her lips pulled into a frown.  He knelt beside her, staring at her reflection as much as she was.  “I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.  You always have been and you always will be.”

She wasn’t convinced.  “You know what this means,” she whispered.  “You know.”

“No, I don’t,” he responded firmly.  His voice sounded shaky despite his conviction to make her feel better.  Strong as he was, he wasn’t strong enough to change the future.  But he’d always been fantastic at denying the obvious, at deluding himself, at wanting things that couldn’t be.  “What does it mean?  That we still have a lifetime together?”

“My lifetime, not yours.”

“You think that matters to me?  You think I’ll ever stop loving you?”  He shook his head, reaching to her and taking her face between his hands.  His thumbs swept over her fine cheekbones, over the skin that to him still seemed as smooth and soft as it had been when he’d first touched her all those years ago at the Stork Club.  “I have loved you from the moment I first saw you.  You climbed out of that jeep at Camp Lehigh like you were meant to be there, all fire and strength and beauty, and I dared to hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , you would look at me and think I was more than just sick Steve Rogers who was crazy enough to think he could be a soldier.  I just wanted a chance, but you gave me so much more.”  He made her look into his eyes.  “Do you have any idea how much you have honored me?  How much you made me into what I am?”

“Everything that makes you who you are was there before you met me,” she whispered sorrowfully.  “That’s why they chose you.”

“Maybe,” he conceded.  “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t make it better.”  He kissed her tenderly.  “Don’t talk like this.  You’re beautiful.  You always will be.”

She bit her lip.  “I don’t want you to have to watch me…”  She couldn’t finish.  Bravely she held back the remainder of her tears.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he said.  She watched him, trying to find strength in his strength.  He smiled as confidently as he could, doing everything he could to keep his own fears and doubts hidden.  She didn’t need to see that he was as scared as she was.

She slid her thumb over his lips and brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek before kissing him again.  When she pulled away, he tiredly laid his head in her lap, snuggling against the cool cotton of her nightgown.  He breathed deeply of her, flowers and soap and the light scent of perfume.  She carded her fingers through his hair.  The night was silent, save for her breathing against him and his dully thudding heart.  “You must promise me that you won’t waste your–”

“Not now,” he murmured against her thigh.  “ _Please_.”

They didn’t speak about it again.

* * *

SHIELD grew by leaps and bounds, and over a decade it was transformed from an ambitious dream to a striking reality.  SHIELD bases spread out from Manhattan to DC and Houston and Los Angeles.  It had taken no small amount of cajoling and explaining and maneuvering on Peggy and Phillips’ part to convince the US Government to fund it, but fund it they did.  The organization blossomed, and thanks to Stark they were on the leading edge of technology, military, medical, and otherwise.  SHIELD quickly became everything its name implied, a barrier between the innocent and the evil, a stalwart sentinel guarding peace from war.

And Captain America was their greatest asset.

It was no accident that his wife was SHIELD’s second in command and therefore in charge of the day-to-day operations of the growing institution.  It was also no accident that he was their strong arm, their weapon and their warrior.  Peggy’s mind was made for this, for the logistics of coordinating intelligence gathering missions, for the strategy in defense, for the intuitive nature of leadership.  She had been born to do it, and she flourished in her position.  When innocents were threatened by ruthless dictators in the Far East, Captain America was sent in to see the threat destroyed.  When the situation in the Middle East degraded, Captain America was deployed to restore law and order.  He led their strike teams, their humanitarian efforts, their envoys to guard the innocent.  He rescued the weak and fought against insurgents, terrorists, and maniacs all while Peggy coordinated SHIELD’s missions with local law enforcement.  Soon SHIELD expanded to an international organization, a decisive arm capable of quick, calculated movement that was stronger than the UN, than NATO, than anything the evil of the world threw at them.

Steve resigned his commission with the army.  He was too busy now with SHIELD to continue his work of training the troops and providing advice as a consultant to the nation’s leaders.  They were disappointed to lose him, but thankfully they let him keep the name.

They stayed close to New York City.  As much as possible, they tried to provide a normal childhood for their kids.  Still, while most teenagers spent their time at the local parlors, soda shops, and hangouts, James and Ellie found themselves hearing war stories from their “uncles” in the Howling Commandos, playing in SHIELD’s command center when they thought their mother wasn’t watching, rubbing elbows with World War II legends and heroes.  Peggy worked principally from the Manhattan office, and Steve was maybe gone more than he liked, deployed to this place to stop a civil war or that country to prevent a massacre, but he tried his damnedest to be home as much as possible.  For a long time, things continued just like this, a simple routine in which they as a family thrived.

They had also grown closer with Howard Stark.  He’d married Maria few years back, and she grounded him.  She was a sweet and quiet woman, the exact opposite of Howard in every way imaginable, but they complimented each other in every way that counted.  Howard Stark’s wedding had been a huge to-do, filled with the finest money could buy and influential people from all over the globe.  But after the ceremony, Howard had wanted a drink with Steve and Steve alone.  The two of them had stood on the balcony of the elaborate venue Howard had picked for a reception.  Howard looked older, weary as well, but still handsome.  _“Well_ ,” he’d said with a sigh, staring out over the beautiful New York City skyline.  _“I guess my goose is well and truly cooked now.”_   Steve had been about to lecture him on the merits of marriage, of being loyal and faithful, but he saw from the small smile curling Howard’s lip under his mustache that he didn’t need to.

New Year’s Eve was here, ringing in 1968.  They were attending a gala at the Stark mansion.  Again it was brimming with the wealthy, with politicians and successful inventors and businessmen.  Steve had no idea how Howard could keep up with this number of guests, friends, and acquaintances; the sheer volume of people mingling in the grand foyer of the Stark estate was astounding.  He’d never felt terribly comfortable at these sorts of things.  Thankfully, while people were well aware of Captain America and his heroics, most people knew nothing about Steve Rogers, and without his uniform and his shield, he could blend.

 Steve sat alone at their table.  Maria stood in a yellow gown, the infant Anthony wrapped in a blanket in her arms.  Peggy was beside her, admiring the baby.  Her hair was gathered in a loose bun and she wore a black dress that reminded Steve too much of the one she’d worn on their first date.  And the way she cuddled the baby against her shoulder reminded him too much of how she’d held James, James who was a teenager now.  He thought back to a memory from late at night, watching from the door of their bedroom as Peggy rocked their son to sleep, humming.  His heart felt heavy at that, not exactly remorseful but yearning for a time that was over for him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Cap.” Howard sat heavily beside him.  The man watched his wife show their child to their guests, looking more riled than Steve could ever recall seeing him.  “Not sure I’m cut out for this.”

“It comes,” Steve said, folding his hands on the table in front of him.  “It’s not always easy.”

“You make it look easy,” Howard responded.  His tone was without heat.  It was the closest the man came to a compliment, and Steve flushed just a bit in pride.  “But you make everything look easy.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Howard shook his head and lifted his drink to his lips.  “I’m an inventor.  People call me a businessman, an entrepreneur, a weapons contractor…  But really under all that are my ideas and my hands.  Maria understood that that came with marrying me.  Something tells me Tony’s not going to be so accepting.”

“You might think that,” Steve said, “but they end up a lot like us.”

He could see the war in Howard’s eyes, his worries about fatherhood, about the sacrifice that raising a child took.  Howard pursed his lips.  “Your son has Captain America to look up to.  Not that I’m downplaying myself, but it just doesn’t compare.”

“Sure it does,” Steve said.  “I thought I was going to die in HYDRA’s plane when it went down.  But you found me against all odds, out in the middle of nowhere.  Saved me.”  He didn’t want to even consider anything else.  What would have happened if Howard’s ships hadn’t located the _Valkyrie_ on the Greenland coast where it had crashed into the ice shelf.  If Howard himself hadn’t led the rescue party and cut through the remains of the crumpled cockpit to find him.  If Howard had given up.  “If that’s not being hero, I don’t know what is.”

Howard held his gaze, probably trying to determine if Steve was lying.  He wasn’t.  He never did.  Slowly a smile, a wide, genuine, sincere one, came to Stark’s face.  Steve smiled too, pleased with himself.  “You’re not half bad, Rogers.”

“Neither are you, Stark.”

* * *

James was graduating from West Point.  Like his father, he’d decided that he wanted to serve his country with every fiber of his being.  Unlike his father, though, he had had no trouble getting into the army.  They’d taken him immediately, and not just because he was the son of Captain America.  He’d made it on his own merits.  But that hung over him, this fear that he couldn’t earn his own way.  He never said as much.  Like Steve, he preferred to keep things close to himself, swallowing his hurts and worries and fears for the sake of everyone else.

The morning of the commencement ceremony, he found James with Peggy.  She was straightening his uniform, talking softly to him about how proud she was, about how handsome he looked.  Steve rapped on the door with his knuckle, and his wife turned.  She smiled knowingly at him.  “I’ll go sit with Eleanor.”

They were alone then.  Steve watched as James appraised himself in the mirror for a moment.  His heart swelled with pride for his son, now a man.  He stepped deeper inside the small room, closing the door behind him.  “You sure you want me to do this?” he asked.  “Because just say the word and I won’t.”

He stood next to James.  They both were dressed sharply, James in the gray cadet uniform and Steve in his dress uniform.  They looked more like two brothers than father and son.  “It’s alright, Pop.  You deserve it.”

Steve shrugged.  “Never been much for this kind of stuff.”

“Me neither.”

The Commandant had personally contacted Steve last week about speaking at the ceremony.  Old habits died hard; he immediately felt like it was an order and had agreed.  It was only after the fact (after Peggy had talked to him about, in all honesty) that he realized it maybe wasn’t the best choice.  Captain America still honored the army when requested, but Steve Rogers needed to honor his son more.  He hadn’t really thought about it until these last few days, and James had never said anything before, but it must have been tough growing up as Captain America’s son.  He worried for a while if James had truly chosen the soldier’s path because he wanted it or if it was simply because he thought that was what was expected of him.  Steve’s father had been a soldier, too, and it’d be a lie to say that that hadn’t influenced him.  But Steve’s father hadn’t been the most famous soldier of the 20th century, a hero by all rights, a living legend.

That was a hell of a thing to have to live up to.

“I’m really proud of you,” Steve suddenly said.  The silence had become too unbearable.  “Really proud.”

James turned and looked at him with Peggy’s brown eyes.  Suddenly he was a little boy again in Steve’s mind, wrestling with him in the yard behind the house, swimming in the lake on the other side of town, playing catch, pretending to be Captain America with a trash can lid painted red, white, and blue for a shield.  “People look at me, you know.  They all respect me, but not because I’ve earned it.  They expect more from me.  Being a good soldier is never going to be good enough.”

“Jimmy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.  Rather be your son than anyone else’s.”

Steve was speechless.  Then he smiled.  “You know, back before I was Captain America, someone told me that it was more important to be a good man than to be a perfect soldier.  So you have nothing to worry about.”  James stared at Steve’s reflection, a slow smile spreading across his normally serious face.  “Besides I had to try six times to get into the army, and they _needed_ soldiers.”

James smiled even wider and ducked his head.  “You ready then, sir?”

Steve clasped him on the shoulder.  “After you, Cadet.”

An hour later, they watched their little boy become Lieutenant James Rogers of the United States Army.  When Steve rose to speak before the graduating class, Peggy gripped Ellie’s arm tighter and tried her hardest not to cry.

* * *

The years slipped away.

James left to serve in Vietnam.  Ellie, who was blessed with all of her mother’s dark beauty and fiery disposition, finished school.  The only thing she seemed to have inherited from Steve was a love of art and a stubborn streak a mile wide, so she gathered her paints and sketch pads and kissed her mother and father before rushing off in a flurry of excitement to Europe.  Peggy had old friends and family in London and Paris who could help her.  She had a greater sense of adventure than Steve thought possible.  Frankly he wasn’t thrilled with the idea.  The world wasn’t a safe place, with the Cold War raging, and he knew more than anyone from his work with SHIELD how dangerous things were.  But Peggy had convinced him to let her go; after all, James was in the middle of a war, and though they worried for him every day, he was doing what he thought was right, what he felt he _needed_ to do.  Ellie wanted the same.  Nobody had stopped them from doing what they had thought was right when they were that age.  Ellie hugged him and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.  Steve held her tight.  His little girl who had bounced on his knee and played tea party with him and sung wildly out of tune.  Now she was gone as well.

The years slipped away.

James was awarded the Medal of Honor for saving his platoon and a Purple Heart for sustaining a serious enough gunshot wound to end his tour.  President Ford himself had presented him with the army’s highest honor.  This time, Peggy did cry.  In short order, James outranked his father, and Steve started saluting his son.  James found himself a wife, a beautiful, red-haired young woman he’d met in the military hospital.  They were married and quickly had a baby of their own, a little girl with whom Peggy and Steve instantly fell in love.  Steve watched his son with his own family, a hero in his own right, and felt more complete than ever before.

The years slipped away.  The world was changing before their eyes, technology driving humanity toward the 21st century.  Steve was gone a lot these days as terrorism became a new, favorite weapon of their enemies.  He found himself doing fewer and fewer aid missions, missions where he led troops and rallied against enemies who were clearly defined, and more and more night assaults and covert ops and stealth attacks.  He wasn’t sure he liked the change.  His men weren’t soldiers anymore.  They were assassins and sharpshooters and combat specialists.  They fought from shadows with weapons meant to kill from a distance.  Peggy assured him that combatting modern enemies who honored no rules of engagement required that they themselves had to do the same.  Her faith was the only thing that convinced him it was right.

The years slipped away.  Ellie came back from France, married to an artist they didn’t know and pregnant.  He was a nice enough fellow, and it was more than obvious that their little girl – this woman who’d grown from their little girl – was enamored with him.  A bitter feeling of betrayal ached in Steve’s heart which Peggy soothed by reminding them that they’d practically eloped themselves.  Ellie was old enough and wise enough to make her own choices.  Good choices.  That was the only thing that stayed Steve’s anger and kept his mouth shut.  Her happiness was worth more than being right.  Ellie and her husband settled in New York, and she gave birth to a sweet baby boy.  They had grandchildren they adored.

Grandchildren.  Peggy was almost seventy.  Steve still looked and felt like he was twenty-five.  He was untouched by time.

The years slipped away.  Howard and Maria Stark, their closest friends, were killed in a car accident in 1989.  Peggy and he traveled from Washington, where they now lived near SHIELD headquarters, to New York for the funeral.  It was an extravagant service on a cold, gray day, loaded with influential people from all walks of life.  The Starks had been a potent force of change and innovation, driving industrialists and energetic leaders.  Steve shed a tear for them, his arm around Peggy as she morosely stared at their coffins.  The service Howard had done for his country was immeasurable.

When the crowds dissipated, Steve found Tony Stark standing beside the graves.  He was doing extremely well at MIT, or so Steve had heard, quite a genius in his own right.  He looked a lot like Howard as he had been when Steve had first seen him at the World Expo in 1943.  He’d seen Tony grow up off and on over the years.  Howard had been a good father, busy of course but always taking time for Tony’s tinkering, for Tony’s ideas and projects.  The young man looked crushed.  “Hi, Tony,” Steve said softly, coming to stand beside him.

“Hey.”

“Your dad was one of the best men I ever knew.”

“Thanks.  He always said the same thing about you.”

Steve smiled sadly, remembering Howard with only fondness in his heart.  He’d shaped a century.  “You need anything?” he asked the young man.

Tony managed a small smile for Steve’s benefit.  He stood silently for a long moment, staring emptily at those graves.  “Maybe.  For once, I’m not sure.  The old man thought he knew everything.  Thought he could teach me everything, but he didn’t teach me how to take his place.”

 _Sure he did._ Steve took Tony by the shoulder and hugged him firmly.  “Well, when you figure it out, just give me a call.”

Tony nodded and wiped at his eyes a bit.  “Thanks, Cap.”

The years slipped away.  So many of their old friends were dying.  Former SSR agents.  Phillips.  The Commandos.  Peggy was struggling to keep up with the rigors of directing SHIELD.  The organization was now huge, governed by a World Security Council, spanning multiple countries with an intelligence network that was vast, efficient, and powerful.  She’d built it, along with Howard and Phillips.  And she was the only one among them who was still alive.  Her hair was fully gray now, thick and coarse.  She didn’t stand so tall.  Her eyes were dark and filled with the press of years.  Her skin was wrinkled.  Steve still thought she was beautiful, and he told her every day, but it didn’t change the fact that she was an old woman.  People saw them together, and it became downright awkward.  He looked young enough to be her grandson.  It hurt so much to admit it.

Steve returned, scraped and bruised and beaten, from a mission in Afghanistan.  He wandered through the newly constructed Triskelion, his leaden, aching feet taking him to the director’s office.  He entered only to find Peggy talking with a tall, dark-skinned man.  “Ah, Steve,” she said, rising from her desk.  Steve slowed in his gait, appraising the other man cautiously.  Peggy smiled thinly.  “Colonel Nick Fury, may I present Captain Steve Rogers.”

Fury was an imposing figure, no doubt about it.  He was dressed entirely in black.  An eye patch covered one eye completely.  His face was tough, stern.  But he extended his hand toward Steve and didn’t seem bothered by the grimy fingers that grasped his own.  “Cap,” he said.

“Colonel.”

He pivoted then, giving Peggy a curt nod.  “I’ll get those mission details to you ASAP, Director.”

Peggy nodded, and then Fury took his leave.  Steve stood firmly and still long enough to watch Fury’s black coat disappear through the glass doors of Peggy’s office, and then he sagged and turned to his wife.  “Scary guy,” he murmured, rounding the corner of her desk to reach her side.

“Very much so,” Peggy answered.  She sank tiredly into her chair, taking Steve’s gloved hand and pulling him closer.  Worry filled her voice as she looked him over.  “Are you hurt?”

“Little,” he said.  “I’m okay.”

“How did it go?”

“Got the hostages out.  No one died.”

That was the best they could hope for.  Peggy closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair as Steve’s large hands closed over her thin shoulders.  It seemed the weight of the world, the weight of so many years spent fighting for it, was crushing her.  They were silent for a long time, her eyes closed, Steve gazing emptily over the Potomac.  Eventually Peggy sighed.  “Steve, I need you to stand beside Colonel Fury.”

He wasn’t really listening, bone-weary.  “Uh-huh.”

“I’m selecting him to replace me.”

That cut through Steve’s exhausted haze.  He didn’t want to understand, even though what she was saying was simple enough.  He wanted to deny.  “Wh-what?”

She turned in her chair, swiveling around to face him.  She took both his hands in hers.  Hers that were so frail and wrinkled now.  “I can’t do this anymore.  It’s time for me to step down.”

Anger and hurt and grief ripped through him.  The thought was horrible, distressing and disturbing.  SHIELD without Peggy.  Even more than that, though, was the unspoken implication.  He’d never known her to quit, never known her to think herself anything less than capable.  “You can’t do that.  We need you.  _I_ need you _here_.”

She looked in his eyes.  Her own were filled with sadness, but they were resolute.  His were a storm of things he wanted to say but couldn’t.  “I’m seventy-six years old.”

“I know how old you are,” he snapped.

She was unfazed by his anger.  “I built SHIELD.  I gave everything I could to it.  We both did.  You know that.  But… I’m not fit for this anymore.  SHIELD deserves someone younger and sharper, someone prepared to make the tough choices in this new world.”

“Peggy, please–”

“It’s time,” she repeated.  He stared into her eyes, knowing that stubborn look when he saw it.  Knowing it and hating it.  She was beseeching him to understand, to accept this decision she’d made.  She _needed_ him to understand it and accept it.  Suddenly she seemed so weak and frail.  Suddenly she seemed so old.  Everything he’d been fighting to ignore for years was hard and harsh upon him.  He was still Captain America.  But she couldn’t keep up with him anymore.

He closed his eyes in defeat, against the sting of tears, and swallowed through a dry, tight throat.  “Then I’ll resign, too.”

“No.”

“I go where you go,” he declared firmly.  It was the only thing he could control.  The only damn thing.  “I love you.  You’re my wife.  I go with _you_.”

She kissed his hand.  Her eyes were the same as they always had been yet somehow so different.  All the times she had kissed his hand, kissed his lips…  “The world still needs Captain America,” she whispered.  She smiled tenderly at him.  “More than I do.”

The sob broke from his throat.  “Peg, you don’t mean that.”

She didn’t say anything more, leaning her head against his stomach.  He stood stiffly, longing to fight and rail and yell and stop this, but he couldn’t.  Eventually he succumbed and embraced her, stroking her hair as she sighed against him.  “You were meant for more than this.”

He didn’t care if that was true.  He didn’t care if she believed it.  This was first time since he’d decided to let them inject that serum into his body that he regretted it.

The years slipped away.  He was helpless to stop them.

* * *

Peggy spent the twilight of her life as a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother.  She embraced this role, free from the worries of SHIELD and war and the new world order.  Steve envied her that.  She was free to live without restrictions.  He was glad for her, but it drove something between them that had never been there before.  His life as a soldier was going on, but for the first time, she wasn’t at his side.  She couldn’t be.

The only reason he kept fighting was because she wanted him to.  It was important for her, important that he remain with SHIELD to protect it and keep it noble and pure.  He did that for her and tried his hardest to pretend it didn’t hurt.

They moved close to James and his family.  It was nice to be near them, to see his grandchildren and great-grandchildren so often.  They looked at him with eyes as wide as saucers.  He didn’t think they knew who he was, not that he was Captain America and certainly not that he was their grandfather.  That hurt as well but he could understand why.  Peggy found great peace and contentment in their nearness, and he would never let on that he didn’t feel connected to any of it.

Steve still returned home after every mission and whenever he could.  When they were alone, they danced to music from the past in their living room.  He lay on their couch, his head in her lap and her fingers in his hair, treasuring moments he knew wouldn’t last.  They were well into a new century, and Peggy was living longer than he had ever imagined.  But he _knew_ it couldn’t last.

One day he came home to an empty house.  Ellie was there waiting for him.  “Dad,” she whispered, weeping, hugging him tightly.  “Mom’s in the hospital.”

He rushed to see her.  She’d had a heart attack.  Her pale, weak body was beginning to fail her.  Her mind was going.  Sometimes she was incredibly aware of everything and everyone.  Sometimes he sat with her, looked into those eyes and saw their lifetime together.  But sometimes when he looked there was only grief and a vacant place where her vibrant spirit had once been.  He’d been told countless times over the years that he was strong, that he was brave beyond any measure.  He wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to face this.

SHIELD grew more and more powerful.  Things began to change rapidly, technology altering war so much that he was beginning to not recognize it anymore.  Suddenly there were superheroes, monsters made of experiments gone awry, armored suits more advanced than he could imagine, gods descending from alien worlds.  SHIELD was filled with spies and assassins, people who lived hard lives and walked the fine line between right and wrong like they were born to.  He didn’t know if he still had a place in that.

He was losing Peggy a piece at a time.  He was losing himself even faster.  He found himself training more than ever, slipping into the blankness of physical exertion, working his frustrations out on a damn punching bag because it was the only thing he could hit as hard as he wanted without hurting anything or anyone.  He was beating one senseless when Fury came in.  Steve wiped the sweat from his eyes. He didn’t deal much with SHIELD’s director anymore.  He was becoming a ghost of who he had been.  “You here with a mission, sir?”

Fury had a folder in his hands.  “I am.”

Steve glanced at him from the corner of his eye.  The bitterness was more than he could swallow.  “Trying to get me back into the world?”

“Trying to save it.”

Everything he thought long settled, HYDRA’s dark and deadly secrets, was brought to the surface.  All of the sudden he had a team again.  He was a leader again, a captain, the man that the world revered and respected.  If his old enemies weren’t dead, then he couldn’t be either.  So he fought with this new team and realized they weren’t so different from the old one.

Steve found out later that Peggy watched on TV as her husband saved the world again.  Once or twice she had to ask her daughter who it was she was watching.

* * *

She was dying.

Steve had abandoned a mission and rushed back to the States when James had called.  Tony Stark had been waiting for him at JFK to personally fly him to DC.  Steve had run through the hospital as fast as he could, not caring that he was wearing his dirty blue uniform, not caring if the whole goddamn world saw him panicking.  His family was waiting for him.  His children.  His children’s children.  They were crying.  “She’s waiting for you, Pop,” James said.

Steve could hardly bear to breathe.  Something in his chest was twisting tighter and tighter and _tighter_ , and he couldn’t make his lungs work.  James had hugged him, his cheeks wet.  He looked decades older than the man who’d fathered him.  “How long?” Steve asked hoarsely.

James shook his head and whispered, “Not long.”

A lifetime together reduced to these last moments.

He might not have looked it, but Steve felt bent and weary and old.

Tentatively Steve walked inside the hospital room.  She lay in the bed, and all around the day was bright and beautiful.  Her small body was covered in a coarse blanket and hooked to machines and monitors.  The white of her hair was spread over the pillow beneath her head.  Her beautiful face, once so full and radiant, had dulled and thinned.  She was a dying husk, a shadow of herself.  She should have never hung on so long for him.

Steve stared at her for what seemed to be forever before he managed to move any closer.  There was a chair beside the bed, a chair he sat in without thinking.  Her gnarled hand, discolored and twisted by age, rested atop the blanket.  He took it in his own, enveloping her cold fingers in his warm ones, remembering the strength.  Longing for it again.  The life she had built for them with those hands.

The sob he was trying to keep inside loudly broke free, and he pulled her hand closer to him and knelt beside the bed.  The world was beating and pulsing and pounding, drowning him in an agonized, monotonous march of seconds and heartbeats.  Hot tears poured from eyes he squeezed shut. 

“Steve?”  Her weak whisper pulled him from his anguish.  He looked to her and found her hazy eyes upon him.  “Steve?”

“I’m here,” he said, leaning closer to lay his hand against her cheek.

“You came.”  The relief in her weak voice cut to his soul.

“Of course.”  He smiled.  “You think I could let you go without saying goodbye?”

She smiled as well.  Her eyes closed, and he watched over her until she fell asleep.

* * *

He buried her on a pleasant spring day.  The wind was warm, rustling new leaves and new grass and new life all around him.  The sky was bright and blue.  Serene.  Peaceful.  He stood alone in the cemetery, long after the stream of mourners and family had left.  He couldn’t move.  He felt completely lost for the first time in seventy years.  Completely alone.  He was holding everything together, the tattered ends of his bleeding heart, but only just so.  Only because he had to.  He was Captain America.

“Damn it,” he whispered.  The anger came, roaring in his veins, pounding and pulverizing what little remained of his strength.  “What do I do now?  Please, Peggy…  Tell me what I’m supposed to do now.”

 _Live.  Promise me._   She had told him that.  Towards the end, she’d been emphatic about it.  He was not supposed to throw his life away grieving.  He was not supposed to suffer with his sorrow or yearn to follow her.  He was supposed to keep going, to love again, to carry on.  That was the mission with which she had left him.  He didn’t think he could do it.  He didn’t _want_ to do it.

The words on the gray stone before him blurred.  _Margaret Rogers.  1919-2014.  Beloved wife, mother, grandmother._  His wife.  The mother of his children.  His staunchest supporter and lover and best friend.  The right partner.

_His wife._

She was gone.  He loved her so much, and she was gone.  There was nothing left.

Steve broke and crumpled and collapsed to his knees.  He cried hard and long, letting it all out, this dark hatred of himself and fate and the goddamn inevitability of it all.  He cried like he never had before, not after losing his parents or Bucky or anyone else.  His heart shuddered in this chest.  This hurt so badly…  Maybe he was dying.  Maybe he could die and be with her again.  Maybe…

“Steve?”

He leaned into the smooth stone, staring with bleary, hurting eyes. He swept his fingers over the words engraved into it.  It was cold, so cold, drawing the heat from his flushed cheeks and the fever from his heart.  He blinked, letting the chill soothe the rage and pain. 

There in the distance.  A sharply dressed man.  A young woman with red hair.  A man with a firm, stoic face and another man with sloppy gray hair who was worriedly frowning.  A man watching him with blue eyes brimming with tears of his own.  Steve closed his eyes again, too tired and beaten to care.  He wanted to die.  He wanted to sleep.  He didn’t want to fight anymore.  His world had ended.

“It cannot end this way.”

_Live._

“Steve, please…”

_“Steve, don’t do this…  Please!”_

He couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t give up or give in.  Not to the icy grief freezing his heart.  Peggy had made him promise, and he had to keep it.  And he knew these people.  He knew them.  His team.

Tony.  Bruce and Clint.  Natasha.  _Thor_.

_Live!_

Steve gasped and opened his eyes.  The world shattered.  The ice _shattered_.  Suddenly he could breathe again, and he did, sucking in a huge breath into lungs that had stopped working.  Blood rushed from a heart that had stopped pumping.  Warmth blasted over him, glorious and deep and liberating, and he shook and trembled in its wake.  Something wasn’t right.  This wasn’t right.

Where was he?

He blinked away tears and ice from his eyes.  A blurry face loomed over him, strong and bearded.  Blue eyes brimming with happy, hopeful tears.  “Steve?”  It was Thor, and he was smiling in consuming relief.  Arms enclosed him and he was pulled to a warm chest.  “You live...”  Thor laughed and sobbed at once.  “You came back!”

He wanted to talk, to say something, to _scream_ , but his lips wouldn’t work and his mind was lost in confusion.  Suddenly memories, memories that _couldn’t be right_ , slammed back into him, as cruel and demanding as they were.  The Frost Giants attacking New Mexico.  The Asgardians coming to save Thor.  The Avengers fighting.

He’d been stabbed and had frozen to death.

Loki.

Steve closed his aching eyes and a miserable sob broke from his mouth.  _No._   Everything, every bit of his body and mind and heart and soul, rebelled against a truth that was becoming frightfully apparent.  It hadn’t been real. He’d died in 1945 and woke up in 2012.  The _Valkyrie_ had crashed and he’d been lost.  He’d been dreaming or somehow…  _No._

 _None_ of it had been real.

_Please, God, no!_

But Thor only held him tighter, and the heat chased away the cold, heat wrought by magic and the serum.  It jolted powerfully through him from the tips of his fingers and toes to the frozen core of him.  It melted the pain, forcing vitality back into this body.  Steve’s shaking fingers found their way into Thor’s hand and grasped it tightly, holding onto something, onto someone.  It was overwhelming, the surge of energy and vibrancy within him.  It was overwhelming, the harsh truth that he didn’t want to admit.  His heart broke, despair and anguish threatening, but even those were meager things against the fire of life racing through him. 

And when it was gone, he was tired.  So tired.  Darkness pushed in, and he was too defeated to even begin to stop it.

“It is over, my friend,” Thor promised softly.  He felt lips press softly to his forehead.  “It is over.”

Steve went to sleep very much alive, wondering how God could be so cruel as to return him to a world where Peggy was still dead.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve slept.

Thor watched over him.  He watched as Steve’s chest rose and fell peacefully, his lips parted and his face flushed with vibrant, healthy color.  He watched as the ice disappeared, as it melted away and left his skin pink and bronze and gold and glistening.  It was remarkable, utterly amazing, to see renewed vitality glow in his restored flesh, to feel heat radiating from muscles, to find strength returning into once limp and leaden limbs.  Steve lay on the pallet, sweating, shivering still but not from the cold.  From the shock of it all.  From the fire of life burning so hotly within him.  Thor laid his hand on Steve’s feverish forehead once or twice to be sure of that.  He was afraid to let go, to look away, to breathe or think or accept this as truth.  Irrationally he was worried that if he relaxed, it would all turn out to be a dream.

It wasn’t like him to be so uncertain, but nothing since he had sparred with Steve that morning in Stark Tower seemed quite real or right.  The gratitude and relief left him shaken.  Steve had _died_ ; of that there could be no doubt.  It was a miracle that he’d come back, that the elixir or the serum or both had saved him.  Thor didn’t understand, but he didn’t question it.  He hadn’t wanted to admit how remote the chance had been during these last difficult hours, for to do that would have been akin to surrendering to defeat.  Now, looking back…  It was a gift that Steve had survived.  It was a gift that Odin and Idunn and the forces that governed life and death had thought him worthy.  And it was gift Thor himself hardly felt worthy enough to accept.

Still, accept it he would.  It seemed impossible that this awful nightmare could truly be over.

The eir still watched Steve dispassionately, but even her stoic expression and empty eyes seemed a false mask.  She, too, was impressed.  Her assistants pulled the loose tan tunic away from Steve, inspecting the shining skin and pliant muscles.  They had dressed him a few minutes ago, removing the soaked blankets and Thor’s sodden cape, examining him as they had done so.  Even the hideous hole where the ice had stabbed through him was gone, the skin of his breast and his back healed and solid and unblemished and perfectly smooth.  Thor tentatively touched the area were the injury had been, but his fingers met solid muscle and warm skin.  He could feel the steady beat of Steve’s heart.  There was no sign at all that he’d been mortally wounded.  “He is fortunate,” the eir said.  “It was a near thing.”  The healers pulled the tan tunic closed again.  “He is favored.  He is blessed.”

Thor released a long breath.  “He is,” he agreed.

The healers finished their work, rising from the pallet and gathering their supplies.  The empty bowl that had held the nectar of the golden apple.  Discarded towels and quilts.  A few of the healers cleaned the damage from the fight, moving away the wreckage of the broken tables and shattered vials.  The smashed wall was being reinforced and repaired.  In short order, it would be like none of this had ever happened.

Thor felt Steve shift slightly beside him.  One of the healers had knelt at Steve’s other side and was carefully and slowly pouring water into the soldier’s mouth.  The expression of agony that had clenched his face for hours was gone, replaced by calm contentment.  Thor felt such strong relief at that most of all.  The pain was gone.  The pain was finally _gone_.  It was overwhelming.  Steve breathed deeply, slowly, freely.  He was shining in perspiration and heat and _life_.

Thor tensed his muscles to keep from shaking and swallowed his emotions.  “The human will likely sleep for some time,” the eir said.

Thor pulled together his composure and looked to the emotionless woman.  He nodded.  “Thank you.”

The eir tipped her head, regarding him with a mixture of confusion and disdain in her eyes.  Still, despite her cold detachment, she nodded.  She clasped her hands behind her back and left, the other healers following.

Alone, Thor felt he could finally break.  He slumped beside Steve, dropping his chin to his chest and his hands to his lap and closing his eyes.  All of his strength and stamina abruptly fled, leaving him fatigued and burdened.  Thoughts swirled through the fog of exhaustion in his head, but he couldn’t grasp them.  They were vague and fleeting things.  The realization that he’d done it, that Steve would survive.  The realization that he’d let Loki escape when he should have killed him.  The realization that, even if the damage had been repaired and everything was restorable, nothing could truly be the same.  Coming here like this, coming home so driven to save the life of a mortal, to save the life of his friend, had shone him things he now couldn’t ignore.  He’d suspected the truth for some time, but he’d been able to push it down.  Now… with his heart yearning for Jane and aching for what Steve had endured… 

Heimdall had been right.  He had lost himself as he had been.

And he had found himself as someone else.

“Thor.”  He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to find his mother standing in the doorway.  Frigga’s soft call had seemed thunderous in the silence.  Where the palace had once been loud and chaotic with panic, it was now quiet and serene.  Night spread soft shadows and solemn tranquility, and they were welcome visitors.

She stood still, her hands clasped elegantly before her.  Her face was placid, her gown and hair pristine.  Thor felt filthy with sweat and cuts and scrapes and dust.  She looked untouched by this all.  He was hurt and felt radically different.  Right then he envied her.  “Your father would speak with you.”

Thor glanced once more at Steve, but his friend still slumbered, warm and whole and recovering.  He tenderly pressed his hand to Steve’s brow for a moment, smoothing back the mussed and sweaty blond hair, before pushing his beaten form upward.  He acutely felt every injury he’d sustained from the frantic battle with the Jotuns that seemed ages ago and from his encounter with Loki.  He drew a deep breath to calm and steady himself.  There would be time to rest.  This discussion had been long in coming.  He knew what his father wished to say to him.  He knew what he needed to say to his father, as well.

As he passed Frigga, she took his hand, slowing his weary gait.  She stepped closer to him, taking up his other as well, holding them tightly in her own between them.  Her fingers were soft and tight upon his.  “Why do you grieve so, my son?”  Of course she would detect his sadness.  She was perceptive and wise and powerful.  She was his mother.  “Your friend lives.  He will return to Midgard restored, just as you hoped he would.  You have done a great thing for him.  You saved him.”

“As he has saved me,” Thor answered.  “As he has saved his friends and his people countless times before.  As he saved Loki.”  He blinked back the burn of tears.  “He has suffered more in his life than anyone should have.  His friendship with me has caused him naught but pain.”

“That I doubt.  If he is as noble as you say, he will not fault you for things you could not control,” Frigga responded.  Thor looked down into his mother’s eyes and knew she was right.  However, logic and reason were often poor weapons against guilt, and there was great guilt in his heart.  It weighed upon him.  It would for some time.  He knew this, just as he knew his feet had been set upon a new path that he was meant to walk.  That he could do nothing but walk.  He felt so many things, a storm of contradictions weathering his already weary heart.  In the end, it was love that mattered to him most, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“I am proud of you,” she said, laying her hand to his cheek.

The warmth of pride eased his spirit.  Thor smiled, sincerely smiled.  He released her and turned to leave.  Before he had gone far, though, Frigga called to him again.  “Thor.” He looked back at her.  Her eyes were soft and compassionate and warm with understanding.  “Often times it is an act of mercy that requires the most strength.”

Her tender smile was all the encouragement he needed, and he nodded and continued down the hall.

* * *

The Allfather stood on the balcony of his massive suite at the very pinnacle of the palace.  His face was lifted to the stars, and moonlight turned it white and ethereal.  Still, nothing could hide his age, the wrinkles about his eyes and mouth, the weathered texture of his skin, the white coarseness of his beard and hair.  Thor stood behind him and looked upon him and saw power and honor and bravery.  He also saw the years drive him down, this creature that had sired him and reared him and taught him to be a warrior and a prince.  He wondered how it had happened that who he was wasn’t who he needed to be.

The silence was thick and heavy.  Thor finally summoned the strength to slowly step forward and stand at his king’s side.  The sky was inky black and dotted with millions of twinkling stars.  There were distant worlds, and a blue sphere was among them.  It was embraced by wispy clouds and inhabited by the strangest contradictions he had ever known in his long life.  Asgard was all around, beautiful and mighty and familiar.  It was vast and calm and eternal, the highest level of existence.  And he was its prince.

But he didn’t belong here anymore.

“You let Loki leave.”

Odin’s low voice made his heart beat just a little harder and faster, and he flinched inwardly and prayed his father did not see his weakness.  The words were emotionless, void of judgment or anger or acceptance.  Odin rarely betrayed what he thought to anyone.

Thor bowed his head.  He didn’t regret what he’d done, at least he knew he shouldn’t, but shame still coursed through him.  The driving need to see Steve safe was gone now, and without it he was forced to look at things to which he’d blinded himself.  He’d shirked his duty as Asgard’s protector.  He’d failed his nation.  He’d disappointed his king.  He’d betrayed his father.  “Yes,” he murmured after an endless eternity of taut silence.  “I will not deny it.  I submit myself to whatever punishment you deem fit for such an act of treason.”

Odin said nothing to that at first.  He didn’t even turn to address his son, his eye appraising his nation that was once again serene and quiet under the colorful blanket of the universe enveloping it.  Thor forced himself to remain still despite the itch of anxiety plaguing his limbs.  He was reminded yet again of standing before his cross parent in his reckless and mischievous youth, caught doing something or other that was entirely improper of his station.  He knew his father well; Odin liked silence to be its own force in molding a conscience.  “Your compassion has weakened you.”

Thor flinched, but he knew he must confess the truth.  “Yes.”

“Do you believe you were right to let him go?”

This was a test, and he knew it with every fiber of his being.  Yet lying served no purpose, and he would not dishonor either of them.  “I believe that killing him would have served only my vengeful heart.  His death would have been murder.”

“Murder is sometimes the only choice in dealing with the villainous,” Odin coolly remarked.

“Sometimes,” Thor said, “but not all the time.”

“He will not stop.  Sparing him the sword will not soothe his rage.  He is mad with it.  It will only be a matter of time before he strikes at you again.  Your compassion has weakened you,” Odin repeated.  This time Thor did flinch, hot anger and cold fear washing over him in waves, and the unsettling dichotomy left him reeling and aching.  Odin finally turned and regarded his son.  Thor feared what he would find in his father’s glare.  Fury.  Disappointment.  Wrath.  But there was nothing but sadness.  “As has mine.”  Thor swallowed thickly, lifting his chin.  “I cannot fault you for the same weakness that has stayed my hand in the past.”

“It is not weakness, Father,” said Thor softly.  He did not argue to be right or to restore his bruised ego.  He did not intend to argue at all, in fact.  If his father chose not to believe him, then he couldn’t change that.  But he knew it was true, now more than ever before.  “It is not.”

Odin stared at him sternly for a moment.  To Thor’s surprise, his face softened and he returned his gaze to Asgard below and the sea of stars beyond.  “Perhaps not.” 

They stood quietly for a long moment.  Thor set his hands to the smooth, polished railing of the balcony and watched the universe before his eyes.  Always when he looked to the sky he found himself searching for earth.  In these months past, he might have come back and dwelled upon Asgard now and again, gone about his duties with all the strength and determination required of him, but his heart had never left earth.  Being torn between these two places was only hurting him and hurting Jane.  It had to end.  “Father, I must take Steven home to Midgard,” he finally announced.  Odin said nothing to that, as still and sturdy and unyielding as rock beside him.  Thor glanced at him and found him distant and lost in thought.  He summoned all that remained of his courage and fortitude and deeply inhaled, praying a cleansing breath would embolden him.  “I will not return.”

The simple words hung on the night air.  The Allfather remained stiff, never once glancing at his son.  But his eye closed in weary grief.  It was barely perceptible, but Thor saw it nonetheless.  “You wish for me to punish you.  You seek exile.”

That was not true, and they both knew it.  It was an attempt to rationalize something that seemed so utterly without reason.  There was grand legacy to which only Thor was heir.  Only he could assume it.  Only he could wear the mantle of king and defend the Nine Realms.  And he was disowning it.  “I am no longer fit to be king.  The sacrifice required is not something I am willing to make.  I wish it was not true, but it is.  My heart lies with them.  With Jane.”

Odin sagged then, his aged and weathered hands grasping the railing tightly.  “So this is the truth.  The summation of my legacy.  The fate of my sons.  One destroyed by hate.”  There was so much bitterness and pain and resentment.  He turned and stared at Thor.  “And the other by love.”

There was nothing to be said to that.  Odin’s words were spoken softly and without malice, but they cut deeply.  Truthfully, he was afraid of how true his father’s premonition would be.  Could he live among men and watch them fight and kill each other?  Could he be part of the Avengers, be their teammate and friend and brother, and watch each of them die?  It would happen, either by twist of unfortunate fate in battle or by the whims of time itself.  Nearly losing Steve had proven to him that he cared too deeply, that his spirit was so entangled with theirs that the mere thought of the suffering his friend had undergone was damaging.  And Steve was the strongest and most resilient of them.  He would outlive the others by decades or more.

But even he would never outlive Thor.

And Jane…  He had loved before, but he knew he would never love again.  Not like this.  To be parted from her would destroy him.  All the glory in Asgard for all time paled in comparison to spending her mortal life at her side.

He was being foolish, and he _knew_ it, but there was simply no other option.

“I must do this.  I am sorry to have failed you.”  The resolution and confidence in his voice surprised him because he truly didn’t feel strong enough to embrace this choice he’d made.  Here where everything was familiar, marked by centuries of love and laughter and life, it was difficult to embrace what he knew would be a transient moment.  It would be filled with overwhelming joy, but it was only a moment.  But embrace it he did.  “I must go.”

“You renounce your place at my side?  You renounce your destiny?”

“I renounce the throne,” Thor clarified firmly.  “I will always accept my fate.  And I will always stand firm for Asgard and Midgard and all of the Nine Realms should evil threaten.  I swear on my honor that I will never stop protecting the innocent and those I love.”  Hearing himself speak those oaths made it real and possible.  Not just the silly fancy of a love struck heart breaking in desperation.  A true promise.  “And I would never renounce my place at your side.  I am your son, and I will continue to be no matter where I am.”  He immediately considered himself too bold and ducked his head.  “If you will allow me to be.”

It was quiet again.  Thor watched his father, trying to gauge his reaction, but Odin was stoic.  He knew that he was placing a heavy burden upon the king.  Odin was wearied by rule.  He was ready to seek succor after so many years protecting the realms.  He was ready to step down and pass the crown to his son.  And Thor had just ensured that his well-earned rest would not be soon in coming, if ever.

He didn’t know what to expect.  He waited, lingering and hoping for understanding.  Odin did not turn to him.  “You come before me now and ask these things of me as though I was not aware of the war within you.  I knew the moment I saw you carrying your friend’s body into our realm that you were as broken as he was.  I knew that you were tied to his fate before you opened your mouth to beg for his life.  I knew before you did, before Loki’s treason, before I banished you to Midgard for your arrogance.  The humans would teach you humility, but I lost you when I sent you away.”  Thor was ashamed at that.  Ashamed at the pain and regret he heard in his father’s tone. 

Odin finally looked upon him.  He was empty and defeated.  “I warned you that what you want is impossible, but your heart was set long before you arrived.  I knew my words would fall upon deaf ears, but I spoke them all the same, hoping I could reach you.  I cannot.”  Odin seemed bent, resigned to this all.  “It is not wise to fight that which we cannot change.”  He sighed and turned back to the night.  “But then, I suppose, we are all of us bound to what we want.  A heart’s desire is no easy thing to break.”

It was not an understanding, not truly.  It was a way to reach acceptance.  It was a way to reconcile their two differing minds without either of them having to admit he was wrong.  And it was enough.  Odin released a slow breath, his scarred face relaxing.  “I cannot give you my blessing, but your life is yours to live.”

Thor felt a smile slowly come to his lips, a smile that he quashed for fear that his father would think less of him for his elation.  His heart no longer strained inside him, and the peace of the night finally found its way through his guilt and grief and fear to ease him.  “Go.”  Odin clasped his hands behind his back.  “Go to her.  Take with you your power and everything that has made you worthy of it, and be with them.  Protect them as they protect you.”

“I will,” he said.

Odin looked to him again, and that hard, indifferent mask returned.  “Remember,” he said, “that you are always my son.”

It was a statement of pride and affirmation, but it was also a warning that there were things that were fundamentally unalterable, truths that would hold fast no matter how desperately he wished otherwise.  Odin held his gaze firmly, reluctant but decided in this final act of mercy.  Despite his harsh words and hardened heart and the eons of laws forbidding it, he had made it possible to save Steve’s life.  He had allowed Thor to spare Loki.  And now he was letting him go, though it grieved him to do so.  In this moment, at least, he was a father and not a king.  He said nothing more.

A tickle of joy teased Thor’s heart, and it grew stronger with the sweetness of excitement.  He didn’t want to chance anything changing or his father revoking his permission, so he turned on his heel and quickly walked from the room.  And when he was free, he let himself smile and run.

* * *

The Bifrost roared open, splitting the evening sky over New Mexico with a rainbow of bright colors.  Then Thor struck the ground with a thud that shook the earth.  The swirl of blinding light above him continued for a second more, exploding across the sky, before disappearing and leaving the peaceful twilight.

Thor drew a deep breath.  The evening air was cool, clean, and rejuvenating, and it filled him like a gentle balm.  The darkened hospital was before him.  He stood still for what felt to be a long time, weary and relieved to be back.  Relieved to have succeeded.  He held Steve close to him, cradling his captain’s limp, sleeping form.  Mjölnir hung from his forearm.  Heimdall’s final words followed him.  _“I will watch over them all.”_   These were the only things he had brought with him from Asgard.  His dearest friend, restored.  His strength, which he was worthy enough to wield in the defense of those he loved.  And a promise that all would be well.  In the quiet of the evening, in the quiet of his heart, he knew these things were all he needed.

Ahead there was noise and light.  Thor smiled faintly as he saw the Avengers race across the small distance from the rear entrance of the building.  Quickly he walked forward to meet them.  A cacophony of worried, anxious voices pierced the calm night.  Tony and Bruce were there first, Natasha and Clint following.  “What happened?  Thor?  Is he okay?”

“Holy hell, Thor!  Do you have any idea how much I hate waiting?”

“Is he alright?”

Thor nodded wearily at his friends.  “Yes.”  He dropped to his knees, lowering Steve carefully so that the others could see him.  He knew words alone would not be enough to convince them of the incredible truth, though it was not because they did not trust him.  Bruce couched, reaching a worried hand to Steve’s forehead.  He pressed his palm there and then dragged his fingers to the pulse point under Steve’s jaw.  Tony leaned over, breathless and pale, watching intently with wide, frightened eyes.  Natasha and Clint reached them, Clint winded and shivering.  Natasha left him beside Tony and crouched beside Bruce.

They all waited for Banner to speak, even Thor.  He knew Steve was well, knew he would be alright, but hearing Bruce verify it would make it seem all that much more like reality.  Bruce pulled the loose tunic aside, finding only warm skin and a steady heartbeat.  He looked in awe at the place where Steve had been stabbed.  “It’s all gone.  The ice…  It’s all gone!”

Natasha let out a short breath that could have been a sob.  She reached for Steve’s hand, taking it as though to prove to herself that he was _there_ and free from the wintry hell that had almost claimed his life.  Clint relaxed, leaning tiredly into Tony, who was smiling like a madman in some pathetic attempt to hide how truly terrified he’d been.  “See?  I told you we could fix it.”

“We didn’t,” Bruce reminded, smiling easily and looking at Thor with volumes of gratitude shining in his brown eyes.  All of the Avengers turned to him.  Thor felt his eyes burn, felt his heart swell.

Suddenly Tony was beside him, punching his shoulder.  “Way to go, big guy.  You kick ass.  Seriously.  Always knew you had it in you.  Never doubted for a second.  Not even for a _second_.”  Clint shook his head, wiping at his eyes when he thought no one was looking.  “Always knew that Prince-of-Asgard thing would come in handy.”

“You need to explain this to me.  It’s amazing,” Bruce commented.  “You’d never even know…”  Bruce’s voice roughened and he couldn’t finish that thought.  “His pulse is strong.  His breathing’s good.  He’s so _warm_.  No sign of hypothermia or shock or _anything_ …”  He shook his head in confusion and wonder.  “How…  What…”

“Doesn’t matter how,” Natasha answered.  She smiled faintly, obviously shaken, and held Steve’s hand tighter.  “Doesn’t matter.”

“But the scientific implications–”

“You guys want to do a group hug?  Feelin’ the need for a group hug.  Don’t roll your eyes at me, Barton.  Come on.  Group hug!”

“If you touch me, Stark, I swear to God I will remove your–”

Thor grabbed Natasha and pulled her closer.  And Bruce.  Tony and Clint.  The others were surprised for a moment, Clint and Natasha stiff, Bruce downright wooden, and Tony (despite all his nonsense about wanting to do this) resistant now that it was happening.  None of them were given to something like this, to open displays of vulnerability and affection.  But they relaxed after a second, huddling close if just for this one, brief moment.  They needed each other, the strength and security their odd little group provided.  Everything would be alright now.

Their captain was alive, and they were together.

Back by the hospital, there were more people coming out to meet them.  SHIELD agents. Doctors and nurses.  Darcy, hopping and waving ecstatically with both hands.

And Jane, beaming as brightly as the sun.  She was waiting for him.

* * *

Immediately they flew back to New York in a quinjet that SHIELD had dispatched.  As they climbed into the sky over Puente Antiguo, their eyes were met with a frozen wasteland amidst the shadowy expanse of the desert.  The ice and snow covering the town was untouched, glistening as the light of the stars and moon bathed it.  It was breathtakingly beautiful.  The white glow that seemed so pristine and peaceful was a horrid lie, though, and they all knew it.  The town was locked in the moment of its death, a monument to pain and terror and cruel ambition.  How narrowly they had saved those they loved.  How close they had come to losing everything they held dear.  Jane took Thor’s hand as they flew away, her fingers soft and sure in his own, and offered him a reassuring grin that chased away lingering fears.

They were deposited at the top of Stark Tower, and they wearily found their way inside.  Thor carried Steve to his room, Steve who hadn’t stirred once the entire flight, Steve who was lost to the world.  Bruce gave him an examination, mostly to assure himself that this was as real and true as they all wanted it to be.  JARVIS happily reported that Steve’s heart rate and respiration rate and blood pressure were all perfectly normal, and his body temperature was warm and steady.  Thoroughly Bruce assessed him, but there was not a speck of ice or frost to be found.  Steve looked more alive, _healthier_ , than was typical even for him.  Still, he didn’t wake, not even with all of Tony’s impatient prodding.  Thor suggested they simply let him sleep, that the spirit needed rest and relief as much as the body, so they did.  They wanted _more_ , some sort of assurance that their captain was completely alright, and that would only come when he was awake and smiling and back to the man he had been before.

Thor didn’t think such a thing would be possible.  The memories of Steve suffering, of the terror and agony, of his body freezing before their helpless eyes…  These things would stay with them all for some time.  And then there was the fact of the devastating news Steve had received that morning, before all this hell had erupted into their lives.  It wouldn’t be so simple to forget.  Thor had set Peggy’s letter on the nightstand, uncertain if his mother had read it to Steve or not.  The seal was broken, but the papers were tucked inside, seemingly untouched.  When the time came, he was certain that Steve would want it.  When the time came.

Still, the Avengers were forced to settle for now with knowing that Steve slept a healing sleep, breathing easily, his heartbeat steady and strong.  They tucked him into his bed and decided to sit with him in shifts.  Natasha volunteered to take the first of them.  The other Avengers were gone from her mind before they were gone from Steve’s room.  She sat on the bed beside her captain’s sleeping form, as close as she could be without quite touching him.  They left her to her vigil.

Wearily Thor ventured to his suite.  He opened the door to find Jane waiting for him.  “Tony said we could stay here.  Well, not _here_ , but in the tower,” she said with a meek, embarrassed smile.  “Darcy and me.  Since our lab is about as hospitable as a freezer and probably will be for a while.  Anyway, he let me in here, but I can get my own–”

He was inside and kissing her before she could finish her rambling, her words swallowed into his mouth.  She was surprised, but only for a second, and then she stood on the very tips of her toes to return the kiss with fervor and passion.  His large hands wove through her hair, desperate to feel and taste and know every part of her.  He lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her lips pressing frenzied kisses all over his face.  He carried her to his bed, aching with desire, with love and gratitude that she was safe and she was his.

And that he was _there_.

Later, much later, he held her in his arms, her head pillowed upon his shoulder, her arm over his stomach.  Her naked skin shone in the moonlight, softer than anything he’d ever touched.  The dark of her hair spread thickly across the pillow, sweeter than anything he’d ever smelled.  Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her eyes were lost to the night.  Satiated.  Contented.  He caressed her back rhythmically, mindlessly, riding the waves of his wayward thoughts and feeling her breathe against him.  “Before I left Asgard, I told my father I could not assume the throne,” he admitted.  His voice was deep and thunderous in the quiet.

She lifted herself, propping her torso on his chest, to look in his eyes.  Her face was fractured in confusion.  “Why?”

“Because this is where I belong,” he said.  “I belong here.  With you.”

Jane shook her head, her mouth falling open and her eyes filling with dismay.  “I can’t ask you to do that,” she whispered.  She was alarmed.  There was guilt in her gaze.  She knew what he was sacrificing.  “I can’t ask you to give up who you are.”

Thor brushed his fingers over her cheek.  “I know who I am.  I am yours,” he said.  He calmly smiled.  “I love you, Jane Foster, and I will until the very end of my days.”

She knew how deep that went.  An eternity, long after she was gone.  The enormity of that made her gasp a happy sob, frowning and smiling at once.  Tears glistened in her eyes as she leaned closer and kissed him.  Excitement and the euphoria charged between them.  She giggled slightly against his mouth.  “Well.”  She pulled away, sniffling and composing herself.  She managed to steel her face, but she couldn’t control the silly, elated smile that twisted her lips.  “If you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

She gasped and laughed as he rolled and took her with him, pinning her beneath him.  He grinned like a fool.  “As you wish,” he said. 

And he proceeded to show her just how useful he could be.


	11. Chapter 11

The punch flew straight toward Steve’s jaw, but he easily avoided it.  Lithely he turned, side-stepped, and grabbed Thor’s wrist, using the other’s momentum to his advantage.  Faster than the Asgardian could prevent, he twisted Thor’s arm and slammed his own shoulder into his chest.  Thor was flung up and over him, flying head over heels, and he hit the bottom of the boxing ring with a resounding thud.  Steve was on top of him in a minute, pinning him.  “Do you yield?” he asked.

Thor shook his hair from his face and blinked the stars from his eyes.  He was surprised at first, but a broad smile overtook his face in short order.  “Yes,” he said.  Steve nodded, quickly catching his breath and climbing off of Thor.  He wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of one hand, offering the other to his fallen friend.  Thor grasped it and pulled himself gingerly to his feet.  “That is the third time this afternoon that you have bested me,” he said.

“Who’s counting?” Steve asked.

“At least you now sound winded,” Thor said, panting himself.  He crouched slightly, exerted and more worn from their sparring than Steve had ever seen him be before, bracing his hands on his knees.  Steve watched him trying to catch his breath, patting him on the shoulder before walking to the edge of the ring.  He hopped down and went to the refrigerator, pulling two cold waters from it.  He tossed one at Thor.  “Had I known giving you the nectar would make you unbeatable, perhaps I would have thought twice,” he chided with half a grin before lifting the bottle to his lips.  “You wielded my hammer, and now you bat me around like a fly.”

Steve grimaced slightly.  “Bruce doesn’t think it’s permanent.”  Even still, it was still remarkable.  Two days ago he had nearly died, mortally wounded and frozen alive by the Frost Giant’s dark magic, and now he was alive and well.  More than alive and well.  Beyond what he had been before, and the serum had brought him to the very pinnacle of human perfection.  Ever since he’d awoken yesterday morning to a bright and sunny world, he felt _different_.  It was difficult to explain, but he was stronger, faster, more powerful than he had been.  He breathed deeper.  He _felt_ more.  Every muscle was taut with energy, every nerve tingling with electrifying life.  Physical exertion was nearly non-existent.  He could push himself harder than ever before.  His senses were sharper, more attuned to the world, and he could see, hear, smell, and taste with a stunning level of detail.   Supposedly the medicine he’d been given on Asgard was meant for only the gods, but Thor had somehow managed to convince the king to allow Steve a few sips to save his life.  It had done more than that.  Bruce was amazed and flabbergasted at the results of the tests he’d done.  He wanted to study more, believing the effects were likely transient, but Steve had politely declined.  He’d had enough of being analyzed.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted this gift.  He wasn’t sure he wanted the reminder of what had happened.  There was no scar on his chest where he’d been stabbed, but he would always remember the pain, how horrific it had felt that have that poisonous ice inside him.  To have it creep over his body and steal his heat and seep into his muscles and skin and bones.  To have it drive into his heart.

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Steve?”

He focused on Thor, who was watching him intently.  Thor’s face was open with concern, and there was a glint of grief and shame in his eyes that he was trying adamantly to hide.  “I should not have made light of it.  I am sorry.”

Steve shook his head and took a huge drink of water.  “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?  You have seemed troubled these last days, certainly with good reason.  What happened was traumatizing.  We worry for you.  I worry for you,” Thor said.  He as well jumped down from the ring.  The gym seemed huge and vacuous with just the two of them.  “I told you before that you need not suffer in solitude.  I meant that.  If you wish to talk–”

“I don’t think I can,” Steve said.  His heart ached more and more with every word Thor spoke.  His friend looked upon him sadly, perhaps a bit hurt that Steve would not confide in him, and he couldn’t help but be ashamed.  But he didn’t feel ready.  He was just overwhelmed by it all.  He didn’t remember much of the horrible day he’d been wounded, just fleeting moments filled with agony and terror.  That crushing cold consuming him.  That, of course, took him back to his last moments alive on the _Valkyrie_ before he’d sunk down into the ice and ocean.  After he’d woken in Stark Tower he’d been immediately and miserably aware of memory and reality and dream and the harsh differences among them.  This newfound mental clarity allowed him no repose, no escape from it all.

He’d died in 1945 and awoken in the future.

And in this future, the life he’d shared with Peggy had never happened.  In this future, she was dead, and they had never even had their date.

He couldn’t even convince himself the slightest bit that the dream or hallucination or… _whatever_ it had been was real.  He knew better, this firm, unyielding voice in his mind denying his heart any shred of hope.  It had seemed so real, vivid and powerful, and he could almost hear Peggy’s voice as surely as he heard Thor’s.  He could almost feel her in his embrace, dancing the night away, as he felt the clothes on his body or the air against his skin.  He could feel her lips against his as he watched Natasha smile at him.  He could smell the light scent of her perfume with every breath he took.  This other life he’d lived was a phantom, a ghost that lingered in everything he saw and heard and touched and thought. 

He didn’t feel strong enough to deal with it.  It was easier to just _not_ think about it, because beneath his calm exterior, there was a storm building.  A storm of grief and anger and hurt.  The others were worried about him, as Thor had said, but thus far no one had been brave enough to openly approach him.  They regarded him with helplessness and sympathy (he hoped it was sympathy, at least, and not pity), uncertain of how to help him.  He didn’t know how to help himself, or if he even wanted to.  It was simply safer to keep silent about it, even if it hurt to swallow the pain and the grief and even if he felt that storm getting stronger and stronger.  It was easier to pretend nothing had happened.

Fondly Thor grasped his shoulders with both hands, his eyes shining in compassion.  “Steven, you must grieve.  You loved her.”  Steve stiffened and couldn’t meet his gaze.  “It is not weakness.”

There was such a rise of anger within him that he clenched his jaw to keep himself still.  “Thor, I just… I need some time.”  Thor seemed disappointed at that.  “I know you mean well, and it’s not you.  It’s me.  I’m sorry.”

“You’ve no cause to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.  I don’t think I thanked you.  I know what you did for me.  I know what you gave up.”  Steve gave a small, lopsided grin.  “So thank you.  Seems crazy that I was frozen alive twice in my life and survived, but I guess there’s been crazier.”

Thor shook his head.  “As Stark would say, ‘we deal in crazy’.” It was certainly true.  Craziness and miracles and everything in between.  Thor offered him a huge, disarming grin that stretched across his bearded face.  “And I gave up nothing,” he answered.  “It was worth far more to have you safe.”

Steve nodded, but he frankly didn’t want hear more about how important he was, about how essential Captain America was to the Avengers and to the world.  It reminded him far too much of the innumerable times he’d been told that in the past, and all the pain that conviction had caused.  Bucky.  Howard.  Peggy.  He didn’t know if he was worth it or not.  He didn’t care.  So many people in his life had thought this about him.  Deep down inside, he was still just a kid from Brooklyn, and he just wanted to do what was right.  He didn’t want anyone else to suffer on his account.

Thor downed the rest of his water and tossed the bottle into a recycling bin against the far wall.  “I believe the others were ordering dinner.  Something called ‘tie food’.”  The God of Thunder shook his head quizzically.  “Does that imply that we must dress in formal attire for this meal?”

Steve smiled.  “No.  Just dress normal.”  Thor looked doubtful.  “It’s good.  You’ll like it.”

Thor nodded, pulled a towel from the back of one of the chairs, and wiped his face.  “Then we should join them.  A shower is in order first, though.”  He draped the towel across the back of his neck and headed for the door.  He got halfway there before he realized Steve wasn’t with him.  “Steve?”

Steve winced a little as he turned away, dreading an interrogation or debate.  As hungry as he was, he just didn’t feel ready to go up.  “You go on ahead,” he said.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Thor paused at the door, and that clenched, worried expression instantly returned to his face.  He looked as though he did wish to argue or dissuade Steve from solitude, but he thought better of it.  He respected Steve enough not to question him or belittle him or smother him.  So he nodded and smiled comfortingly.  “Whenever you wish.  I will ensure some of the meal is saved for you.”

“Thanks.”

He was alone.  The gym was silent, and the steady beat of Steve’s heart seemed thunderous.  His body tingled with energy; it was almost difficult to stand still.  Vivid images prodded at his consciousness.  He knew he could sink into them if he wanted, if he let go.  But it wouldn’t be any truer now than it had been.  The strangeness of it all was aggravating.  He felt completely whole, yet a huge chunk of his heart was missing like this gaping pit in his chest that throbbed relentlessly and hungrily for something to fill it.  He felt completely _alive_ , but he wasn’t at peace.  Something inside him was still dying.  He didn’t know what to make of what he’d experienced, the things that didn’t seem entirely real but had happened and the things that felt more real than anything he’d ever known but hadn’t.  He was fundamentally cheated yet so incredibly blessed.  He didn’t know what he wanted or how he should feel. 

As he stood there, though, he started to feel angry.  Furious.  Suddenly it was too much to keep it all inside.  He flung his water bottle against the wall.  The plastic ruptured on impact, liquid spraying everywhere.  He stared at the hole in the drywall, at the wet dust sliding down to the floor.  His chest was heaving.  His heart was breaking.  The water dripped like tears.

“Temper, temper,” came an oily voice from behind him.

Steve whirled to find Loki emerging from the shadows on the other side of the gym.  The God of Mischief was smiling in amusement, his hands clasped behind his back.  Steve clenched his fists and thought to fall into a fighting stance and order JARVIS to inform the others.  With this enhanced strength and vitality coursing through him, he knew he could stand toe to toe with Loki and stop him if need be.  But something told him that Loki hadn’t come to fight.  Past encounters have dictated that he should act quickly to summon the Avengers and capture the estranged god before he engaged in his next plan to dominate and destroy, but he didn’t.  He couldn’t explain it.  He prayed he wasn’t making a mistake.

Steve shook his head and then looked back at the weeping hole in the wall.  “Why am I not surprised to see you,” he muttered disdainfully.

“For the same reason that I am not surprised to find you alive,” Loki answered.  “We are both of us who we are.  We cannot be anything else.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m supposed to suffer?”

Loki smiled that aggravating smile of his.  Any sign of the unhinged monster who had tried to murder him on Asgard was gone.  He was as cool and calculating as ever.  “If the shoe fits,” he said.  “I believe that is one of your Midgardian sayings, is it not?”  Steve grunted and looked away.  The rage came hotter and harder, and holding himself completely still was all he could do to not flat-out attack the other.  “Truly you think yourself as nothing more than a glorified shield.  You willingly plant yourself between devastation and the innocent.  You even do this for the not-so innocent, without a second thought.  And you do it over and over again, no matter how much it hurts.  Truly, Captain, you–”

“Shut up,” Steve snapped.  He didn’t need to hear this.  Not again.  “I highly doubt your opinion of me has changed since the last time you told me how pathetic you think I am, so cut to the chase.  What the hell do you want?  Make it quick or I’ll change my mind about getting Thor down here.”

Loki continued smirking, but Steve was perceptive.  He saw something glint in his green eyes, something like fear.  Something like hurt.  “You needn’t be so confrontational.  I only came to ask you if you enjoyed my gift.”

“What are you…”  Then it dawned on him.  Loki pinning him down as the ice had consumed him.  Loki’s green eyes, boring into his.  Loki’s presence inside his mind, inside his heart, inside his _soul_.  He hadn’t been trying to kill him at all.  The sudden realization washed Steve in unsettling chills, and he abruptly felt weak and ill.  He nearly staggered.  “It was you.  You made me…”

Loki’s smile grew impossibly wider.  It was dripping in self-gratification.  “So there is a brain under all that brawn.”

It was crushing.  “How?”

Loki’s eyes flashed in pride, and he opened his hands to Steve.  “They _do_ call me the God of Lies for a reason.”

That confused storm that been swirling and threatening inside for the last two days suddenly roared and burst.  His control snapped and he was across the gym in a blink.  “You bastard,” he snarled.  The heat rushing over him was unbearable, a fire burning him, scorching the planes of his thoughts until there was nothing left but an uncontrollable sense of _violation_.  He wanted to hit the smug smirk off of Loki’s face.  He wanted to _destroy_ him.  “You son of a bitch!  You had no right!”

Loki remained unwavering even in the face of Steve’s wrath.  “I gave you what you wanted above all else.  You desired nothing so much as the life you could have had had you not sacrificed yourself.  A life with her.”

“But it wasn’t real!” Steve said.  His voice was rough with emotion.  He felt like a caged animal, one kicked and teased and tormented too many times.  His body was crawling with restless energy he could hardly restrain.  If the wounds on his heart had healed at all, this had torn them wide open again and he was bleeding.  “ _None_ of it was real!”

“Oh, please,” responded Loki dismissively.  “What does it mean to be real?  Real to you?”  He shook his head in disgust and pity.  “You certainly enjoy your own misery.  You and I are too alike in that regard.”

“You’re a goddamned liar!  You and I are _nothing_ alike!  You don’t know _anything_ about me!”

“I know _everything_ about you.  I looked through all your placating lies and fake assurances and into your heart and saw its desires.  I gave you the life you wished you had, and you lived it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Steve corrected harshly.  “It was all in my head.”

“You _lived_ it.  You experienced it.  You felt it, and it felt real, did it not?  Vivid and colorful and teeming with truth and emotion.  Beautiful, even.  Every minute, your marriage, your children…  _Everything_ you shared with her _felt_ real.”

“But it wasn’t!” Steve argued.  His eyes stung with tears that he refused to cry.

“Reality is a matter of perspective,” Loki explained.

Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing.  “You vindictive monster,” he hissed, struggling with everything he had to hold onto his emotions.  “Why the hell did you do this to me?  Why torture me like that?”

“Torture?”  Loki sounded genuinely affronted.  “I did not do this to hurt or spite you, Captain.  Do not be such a fool.”

Steve looked away.  He tried to breathe through the pain and rage, tried not to succumb to it.  It, like everything else, was so much brighter and hotter.  Silence came, thick and heavy and suffocating.  Loki’s voice was soft and seemingly innocuous.  Gentle, if he could be such a thing.  “You cling to your grief, but you do it irrationally.  Why not embrace what I gave you?  It was what would have happened, as true as it could be.  You will never come to a closer realization of what you lost.  Why shun that?  Why languish in this future you hate–”

“I don’t hate it.”

Loki didn’t look at all convinced.  Frankly, Steve wasn’t either.  Some days he thought living in this time with the Avengers at his side, this new team that had become his friends and family, could be alright.  It could all be alright, and he could even be happy and content.  They didn’t replace what he’d lost, but they were something wonderful and precious in their own right.  But other days…   It was too hard to let go and move on.  It was too hard to grieve for everything he’d lost and everything he could never have.  “Why suffer with your longing?” Loki asked.  “She’s dead.  She cannot be brought back to you.  At least this way you have memories of what could have been.  Do you think she would deride you for that?  Do you think you dishonor her by enjoying a good dream?”

Steve was breathing harshly through clenched teeth.  He dropped his burning eyes to his feet.  He honestly didn’t know what to think.  It had felt so real and vivid that it seemed impossible that it all had been an illusion.  _No, not an illusion.  A lie._   But it was wrong to think that.  He couldn’t throw it all away, even if he wanted to.  He just couldn’t do it.  Loki was right; it meant too much to him.  He swallowed the bitterness in his mouth, struggling to find some sense of calm.

“Would it be so wrong, Captain, to simply take a selfish moment?”  He could feel Loki staring at him.  “Enjoy it.  Savor it.  I would much appreciate it if you did rather than stupidly lamenting it all.”  Steve didn’t know if this was some kind of trap or trick or if Loki was just abusing him for the sake of his own entertainment.  “I gave you this gift in return for what you gave me.  It was a token of gratitude.  A life for a life.  We are even.”

He looked up.  Loki was gone like he’d never been there at all.

The gym was silent again.

A slow sigh.  Another deep breath centered him.  And another.  The minutes slipped away.  The storm quieted like a taut cord loosening inside him.  Ever so slowly his body relaxed, and his heart ceased straining in his chest.  Ever so slowly his mind sunk into a quiet, calm place.  It was all there, deep inside him, safe and precious, and no matter how it had come to be there, it was _his_.

“JARVIS?” he said softly.

“Yes, Captain?”  The AI’s gentle voice echoed in the stillness.

“Do you think you could help me get to London?”

It was time to embrace the truth.

* * *

It was a pleasant spring day.  The sky was blue, the air warm and sweet with new life.  Trees were lush with verdant leaves that danced in the gentle breeze.  The grass of the cemetery was young and springy, and flowers shone brightly along the pathways that led the living among the dead. 

Steve stood by himself, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket.  He looked down at the gravestone, unblinking, unthinking.  Unfeeling.

 _Margaret Carter.  1919-2014.  Beloved wife, mother, grandmother._   Not his wife.  Not the mother of his children.  Somehow seeing those words engraved into the stone didn’t hurt as much as he feared it would.  He’d been terrified of the pain the entire flight from New York, building it up into this monster of sorrow and madness in his mind.  It wasn’t so sharp, really.  It wasn’t anything as bad as he’d imagined.

He’d laid a bunch of tulips on the ground before the grave, pretty and bright against the shining gray.  He hadn’t known what kind of flowers to buy.  The last few times he’d visited Peggy in the nursing home she’d had tulips around her, red and yellow and pink.  Gifts from her children and grandchildren, she’d said.  And the Peggy of his dreams had loved them as well.  Tulips in the flowerbeds around their house.  Tulips in the kitchen. 

It wasn’t real, but it was, and he was okay with that.  He was okay with how much his dreams had borrowed from reality and how much reality would now always be touched by his dreams.

“Hi, Peg,” he whispered.  His throat ached.  There was so much he wanted to say, things he had thought and agonized over, but now he couldn’t remember any of it.  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.  I’m sorry I broke our date.”

He’d apologized before.  Sometimes she’d remembered that he had, and other times she hadn’t.  She’d sobbed softly and brushed aside his words and cupped his face with a teary smile, so very glad that he’d come to her after such a long time.  That he was alive.  He’d held her gnarled hands in his own as he’d sat beside her bed and watched her sleep.  All around there were pictures in frames, scenes from her life.  It was a wonderful life she’d lived, a life filled with love and accomplishment.  She’d married a man from the war, another soldier, a _good_ man, and had his children.  She’d built SHIELD with Howard at her side.  She’d helped to craft this future in which he found himself.  He could never begrudge her any of that, no matter how it hurt.  “I, uh…”  He stammered and swallowed the lump lodged in his throat.  “I just wanted to come and say goodbye.  And to give you this back.”

He pulled the wrinkled, folded papers from his pocket.  Her letter to him.  He hadn’t wanted to look at it, afraid of what it would say.  She’d obviously written it years ago, long before he’d been found.  His heart was such a mess of things, of yearning and sadness and desperation, that he didn’t think he’d have the strength to accept the finality.  Tears filled his eyes.  He couldn’t make himself forget it, though.  He needed to do this.  He needed to know what she had wanted to say to him.  The yellowed paper blurred, and he smiled weakly.  “Should probably read it first, though, right?”

There was no answer save the breeze brushing through his hair.  He unfolded the letter.  Her beautiful cursive painted the page. 

 

_Dear Steve,_

_I don’t know why I’m writing this.  I’m supposed to be getting ready right now, but as I looked at my wedding dress, I just couldn’t put it on.  I’m too afraid.  You know how I hated to ever admit that, but I can’t lie to myself.  For the first time since the war, I’m terrified.  The man I’m going to marry is a good man, and I love him very much.  He loves me as well, so much so that I can’t imagine ever losing him.  We will be good for each other.  But he isn’t you.  I know it’s not right of me to wish him to be, but I’m sitting here doing it all the same.  Unfortunately hearts aren’t always willing to give up the things they desire most._

_But I’m starting a new life today.  I think I can do it.  I will put on that dress and get married and finally close the door on the past.  It’s silly, but I’ve kept up this dream that somehow you’ll find your way back to me.  Everybody else has given up and moved on, but I haven’t been able to.  I’ve never told anyone, but I went there.  To the Stork Club on the Saturday night after I lost you at eight o’clock on the dot.  You weren’t there, and I knew you wouldn’t be, but I went all the same.  I had to.  I dream sometimes that I’m there and you’re there and we dance all night.  It’s an impossible dream, but the sweetest I’ve ever known.  I can still keep that dream alive in my heart, and I will, but I can’t let it control me any longer.  I don’t think you would have wanted me to waste my life waiting for something that can never be.  I put my faith in that.  I have to._

_I pray that you’re alive.  I know in my heart that you are.  Someday you’ll come back.  Maybe you’ll remember me as I remember you today and every day.  Maybe someday you will read this.  I hope that you will.  I’ll never let go of that hope.  You must promise me that you’ll live your life, no matter what happens.  You deserve so much happiness.  More than anything I wish I could have been the one to give it to you.  Please promise me that you will never forget that I love you, now and forever._

_With all my heart,  
_ _Peggy_

 

A beat.  A breath.  The saltiness of tears on his lips.  Steve looked up to the blue sky, to the white clouds and the bright sun.  He breathed deeply with a rush of emotion, of pride and love and sorrow.  A million memories floated through his mind, blown on the gentle breeze.  Peggy’s dark eyes and silky hair.  Her soft, strong hands, clasped in his own.  Her body, warm against his.  Her lips pressed upon him in countless kisses.  Her voice, rich and wild with passion and light with happiness and serious with worry and filled with love.  A lifetime of moments that never were.

Somehow it was enough.  He knew what he was supposed to do.

Steve wiped his face with the back of his hand and folded the letter.  He slid it into the envelope and crouched before Peggy’s grave.  He set the letter beside the flowers.  Then he reached into his other pocket and felt the smooth cover of his compass.  He pulled it out, sweeping his fingers over it one last time.  He put it down in the grass, too.  “I promise,” he said.  “Now and forever.”  He braced his forehead to the cool stone and closed his eyes and let her go.

He was walking after that, his hands in his empty pockets.  Blinking back tears.  Feeling everything.  Thinking that this would be okay.  It would all be okay.

Over a little hill and down by the street, his friends were waiting for him.  Tony and Bruce.  Natasha and Clint.  Thor smiled, stepping closer as Steve approached.  He slid his arm across Steve’s shoulders and drew him into a comforting hug.  “Are you alright?”

Steve pulled away and looked into his friend’s deep eyes and found only loyalty and love.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Do you wish to stay longer?”

He thought about it, but he felt warm and whole and happy.  He couldn’t ask for anything more than that.  “No.  It’s alright now.”  Steve smiled.  “Come on.  Let’s go home.” 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who read this story, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I especially want to express my gratitude to the reviewers for their wonderful comments. It was a pleasure to write for all of you, as always. And special thanks to my beta-reader, E. Until next time!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://thegraytigress.tumblr.com)!


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